Into the Outrealms
by TheRepeat
Summary: The Outrealms are worlds of conflict, Einherjar, and adventure. It has been eight months since Grima fell, and Robin still hasn't returned... He has to be out there somewhere.
1. Into the Outrealms

_Author's note:_

 _This story is the third part of a series, the first two being_ Miracle _and/or_ Dissonance, _and_ Into the Outrealms _will make reference to events from both of them_. _That said, each story is very different in tone, structure, and length, and they can all be enjoyed separately.  
_

* * *

Chapter 1: **Into the Outrealms**

* * *

Chrom's attention was caught by a swift, sharp knocking at the door.

"Ah," he murmured to himself, and moved his paperwork onto a remote corner of his desk. "Come in."

The old oaken door creaked open. In stepped the stone-faced Valmese he had sent for.

"…You've summoned me?" asked Yen'fay, surly as ever.

Chrom nodded, gesturing at the seat across his desk.

"If it's all the same with you, sir," Yen'fay said, closing the door, "I prefer to stand."

"Certainly." Chrom stood as well, and slowly pushed in his chair. "Yen'fay, I remember when we first met during the war."

"Do you refer to me, or the Yen'fay that you killed?"

"You, of course. You have made it abundantly clear, on numerous occasions, that you are not the same Yen'fay as that one."

"Very well; proceed."

"I remember you told me you would disappear as soon as your services were no longer needed. That is, once the Fell Dragon lay dead, you would leave without a word."

Yen'fay was silent.

"Yet here you stay," continued Chrom. "Grima has been dead for almost a full year, yet you remain in Ylisstol with the rest of the Shepherds."

"I had every intention of leaving," said Yen'fay stoically. "I did, in fact, leave. News of Robin's resurrection reached me, however, and I had no choice but to see if those words were true." His features sharpened somewhat, seemingly in indignation. "Naturally… they were not."

"Yes, well, the affair with the alternate Grima was heartbreaking to us all," Chrom said, nodding gravely. "However, I have made Anna's words public. We now have good reason to believe that Robin is, in fact, alive."

"Milord…" Yen'fay said. "…I believe I understand what this is about." His posture was stiff and still, as always, but Chrom noted a sort of tension in Yen'fay's lack of movement. "This is about my origins."

"Indeed," said Chrom. "The only time travel we were aware of was linear. Lucina and her friends traveled back in time to prevent a bad future: simple enough. However, your appearance only now seems anomalous to me. You traveled through time _laterally—_ jumped from an alternate timeline to this one. A sideways jump through time, if you will, rather than a forward or backward leap."

"…Well-reasoned."

"Thank you. Anyway, before Grima's most recent return, you were the _only_ one to do such a thing. Now, on to my point: you traveled through the Outrealm Gate, did you not?"

"I certainly did. However, I was not the only one."

Chrom frowned. "Interesting. That only raises more questions. How did you learn of the Outrealm Gate? How do you know so much about it? Why make the trek in the first place? And most importantly… Why did you keep this information from me?"

"My lord Chrom, those are very personal questions." Yen'fay inclined his head. "If it is all the same with you, I would prefer to keep their answers to myself."

"Frankly, Yen'fay, it is _not_ all the same with me," said Chrom, his temper rising. "If we had known of the Outrealm Gate, we could have better considered the possibility of Robin being Grima. We could have prevented unnecessary heartache and loss of life. Because of your negligence, Nah almost died, and the rest of us would have followed suit. This world could have been destroyed, all because of your secrecy."

The corner of Yen'fay's lip curled up into a slight grimace: the first crack in his stoic expression. "…You have my most sincere apologies, milord. I foresaw no harm in keeping my secret, which I now see was a grave error. I shall compensate, I swear it."

"Good." Chrom crossed his arms, leaning against the bookcase behind him. "Continue, then."

Yen'fay slowly tilted his head back, losing himself in thought. "As you know, I was a coward in my world. I refused to play along with the snake Excellus's scheme, and as such, doomed my sister to death—a public execution, with her corpse paraded across Chon'sin. Regardless of my defiance of Walhart, Chon'sin fell; with my entire family dead and my homeland in ruins, I vanished, shamed forever."

"Of course. I feel for your loss, Yen'fay, truly."

"There is more that I never revealed," said Yen'fay in a measured tone. "With the loss of Say'ri, no resistance faction ever appeared before Walhart. All of Valm was under his absolute control, and even the wiles of your tactician were not enough to defeat him: his military might was simply too impossibly great."

Chrom's expression was grim. "So… we lost the Valmese War. Did the continent of Ylisse fall to him as well?"

"No," said Yen'fay. "No absolute victory was attained on either side. Ylisse's military was now nothing, especially with their Exalt slain in battle, but Robin was indeed a fantastic tactician. Valm's losses were so great that Walhart's empire crumbled, just the same. Robin even lived to return to Ylisse, though I heard he was a changed man; he had lost himself somewhere in Valm, left behind with the rest of the Shepherds."

"Hm."

"Valm was in anarchy," Yen'fay continued. "No government. No armies. No rules. The dynasts made vain bids for power that all ultimately would prove futile when the end-times arrived."

Chrom paled. "You don't mean…"

Yen'fay nodded somberly. "I do. Grima awakened just the same, and with no Exalt, no Falchion, no Fire Emblem, there was no way to stop it. My world began to end, just like your daughter's."

"Then… how did you…?"

Yen'fay's expression was still unreadable. "Anna."

The pieces fell together in Chrom's head. "I see…"

"She gathered me and a few others and sent us into the Outrealms, to save us from the ruin that was to come. In the journey from my world to yours, I was the only survivor: the only one fit to live, or the only one cursed to, perhaps."

"Why didn't this Anna come with all of you, to save herself?"

"She did," said Yen'fay. "She, too, died in our quest."

Yen'fay's words chilled Chrom to the bone. He knew this was an entirely different Anna from his own, but proof of her mortality was unsettling.

Yen'fay paused for a moment. "…I suppose that answers all of your questions."

"It… It does," said Chrom. "Thank you, Yen'fay. This was eye-opening. I have one final request, however."

"Anything to atone, milord."

"Join me," Chrom said. "The Shepherds will soon enter the Outrealms, and I would have you with us. Your experience with the Outrealms and with a blade should prove invaluable."

Yen'fay inclined his head respectfully, and left.

Chrom took a long breath, his ears ringing, and eased himself into his chair. His office seemed to be closing in on him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to achieve peace.

 _Am I up to this?_

* * *

Chrom paced next to the throne as he waited. He never could get himself to sit in the damn thing; he felt like a pompous fool whenever he tried to put on appearances like that.

Finally, there was a knock at the great doors to the throne room. At Chrom's gesture, two guards slid the doors apart, allowing entrance to the visitor.

Chrom put on his best political smile, and acted as though he was just now standing from the throne. Despite his distaste for airs, he found them unavoidable as Exalt. "Welcome, Your Highness. It's a pleasure, as always."

The king of Plegia offered a polite, if somewhat curt, smile. "Exalt Chrom, the pleasure is all mine." He waved away his guards, and they returned from whence they came. "Now, if you don't mind, my trip here was an uncomfortable one, especially in my haste to arrive; could we move our meeting to the conference room?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

* * *

The elderly king slowly eased himself into a chair, his smile replaced with a somewhat disgruntled frown. He adjusted to sit comfortably, and stroked his gray beard a few times before speaking. "Your Holiness, I would prefer we skip the pleasant small talk and get down to business immediately."

"I always prefer directness, milord," Chrom replied. "You have my ear."

The king sighed. "I must first begin with a question: did Grima truly return a second time? I must know this for sure."

Chrom nodded grimly. "It is as the rumors say. Grima posed as Robin and stealthily regained power right under our noses. It is thanks only to the Manakete, Nah, that we were able to defeat him before it was too late."

"And he _is_ dead," said the king cautiously. "Grima was not returned to slumber, to plague us in another thousand years?"

"He is dead," Chrom confirmed. "His body disintegrated before my very eyes, just like the first time we killed him. There is not even a corpse to rejuvenate."

"Just like the first time you killed him?!" the king scoffed. "He returned! He was not dead! And he didn't even have to wait a thousand years!"

Chrom frowned, confused. "This… was not the same Grima, Your Highness. In the letter I sent you, I explained everything."

The king was silent for a moment. "…I had assumed that the letter was doctored, its words were so far-fetched."

"There isn't a false word in that letter, I'm afraid."

The king removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, exasperated. "Good gods…" He replaced his glasses, and looked Chrom in the eye. "How are we to explain everything to the people?" he said earnestly. "The Plegia-Ylisse border wall lies in ruins. There are survivors from there who _saw_ Grima. Not to mention the horde of Risen that attacked Ylisstol, and the heavy damage dealt to the Dragon's Table. How do we explain this?"

"We'll… release a pamphlet, or something," Chrom said, waving it away. "And I'm going to make a speech before my people. Same as last time."

"This is different. There are riots. The people thought that Grima was dead, _permanently._ "

"They were right, Your Majesty. This Grima came from an alternate timeline."

"So you've said." The king crossed his arms. "What guarantee have we that another Grima won't appear from _another_ alternate timeline and repeat all of these events again?"

Chrom sighed. "I have no answer to that, Your Majesty. There are many, many things we do not know about time travel and the Outrealm Gate."

"Ah yes, the Outrealm Gate." The king tilted his head. "How can you leave Ylisse at a time like this, Exalt Chrom? Grima returned twice within a single year. Without Falchion and the Fire Emblem, how can your people feel safe?"

"Well, I can't just leave Falchion here," said Chrom simply. "I'm the only one who can wield it aside from my family, and they are all coming with me."

"That is _not_ my point, Your Eminence."

"You aren't suggesting I _stay?"_ Chrom asked, indignant. "Your Highness, I have _very_ good reason to believe that Robin is in the Outrealms, and I must find him."

"Good reason?" the king asked. "Well then, how did Robin get there? Where is he? What is there to expect out there?"

"That's not important."

"Well then, why not send a search party? Why must the Exalt of Ylisse leave his country, or his _world_ as the case may be, when he has a capable group of Shepherds to go for him?"

Chrom was quiet, his lips pursed. "Your Highness, humor me for a moment."

King Plegia's eyes narrowed, but he gestured, allowing Chrom to proceed.

"When I speak of Robin… what do you think of?" Chrom asked. "Who was Robin, to you?"

"Well, I never met him personally, of course… but ever since the end of the war, you have insisted that Robin was the greatest hero of any of the Shepherds," said the king. "You have shunted all of the fame away from yourself and your army, and onto Robin. When he seemingly returned… even Plegia celebrated."

"I know," said Chrom. "Robin was, indeed, the greatest hero the world has ever known. He symbolizes everything good in humanity: strength, courage, intelligence, charisma, sacrifice… And now the world loves Robin, when it never even knew him."

"Is there a point here?"

"All over the world, Robin is revered as the man who traded his own life for the world," Chrom continued. "He is a beacon of light. Of hope. The greatest person to have ever lived, possibly."

"I am still lost, I'm afraid."

Chrom continued his explanation: "The last three years have taken a great toll on the world. Valm has fallen twice, once to Walhart and once to us. Plegia has been overthrown twice, both times by Ylisse; your last two predecessors have both met their end by my sword."

"That is a disconcerting choice of words."

Chrom inclined his head. "My apologies." He resumed: "Ylisse has seen a change in leadership. Grima returned, twice. Your Highness, it may not be readily apparent, but you must understand: the world is flagging."

King Plegia frowned uncomfortably.

"What people need is hope. And if Robin, the greatest hero of the war, were to return? That would be exactly the kind of hope people would need. To inspire hope in this flagging world, Robin must be rescued." Chrom grinned confidently. "And I'm more of a frontlines general, myself. I see no difference between taking the initiative here and when I took the initiative to lead the Shepherds against Grima last year."

The king was silent for a long moment. Finally, he sighed, leaning forward and clasping his hands on top of the conference table. "You raise a good point, Your Eminence. However, I have one last question: why do you insist on keeping the Fire Emblem?"

"…Its power may be necessary," said Chrom evasively. "The Outrealms are, purportedly, extremely dangerous."

The king gave Chrom a look. "Exalt Chrom. One thousand years ago, the first Exalt of Ylisse used the power of the Fire Emblem to banish Grima to slumber. The Fire Emblem's power had proven so great that the five gems needed to be separated. Gules was given to Regna Ferox. Vert, to Chon'sin in Valm. Sable was entrusted to Plegia, and Azure was held by the Voice of Naga herself, Tiki. Finally, Argent, as well as the Fire Emblem itself, were entrusted to Ylisse."

"I am well aware of all that," said Chrom irritably. "I had to go through much effort to reunite all of them."

"They were separated for a reason," said the king. "The Fire Emblem is exceedingly powerful. For one country to hold the completed Emblem? That is giving that country far too much power. You must concede to the request I have been making since the end of the war, and return the jewels to their proper places."

"The Fire Emblem is a _shield_ ," Chrom explained. "It is a holy item used to vanquish evil. The Hero-King himself used the shield, as the legends go, to fell a dragon more foul than Grima. The Fire Emblem isn't this… super-weapon that you make it out to be."

"Our ancestors separated it for a reason," the king pressed.

"They were wrong!" Chrom snapped. "If I had had the completed Fire Emblem from the start, Grima would never have stood a chance! More than that, if I _hadn't_ had the completed Fire Emblem when Robin turned out to be Grima, then he would still be alive! I would probably still be arguing with you idiots over how important it is that I restore the Fire Emblem's power _while_ he lays waste to the world!"

"Exalt Chrom—" the king began dangerously.

"No! I have had _enough!"_ Chrom raged. "There is no sense in separating the Fire Emblem's pieces! If its power is constantly available to the forces of good, then evil stands no chance!"

"There is no certainty that every ruler of Ylisse will have your morals," King Plegia growled. "Have you forgotten your father already, Exalt? What if he had had the entire Fire Emblem at his disposal?"

"I am _not_ my father," Chrom snarled.

"That I understand," the king said. He raised an open palm. "Peace, Chrom. I intend no insult."

Chrom took a moment to collect himself, to control his breathing. "…I was out of line, Your Highness. There is no such certainty."

The king smiled. "You have such a… youthful idealism, Your Eminence. It is truly a remarkable sight. The determination, the righteousness… You are a fine ruler."

"Thank you."

Plegia sighed. "And… you have a point. Disassembling the Fire Emblem, while the world is in such chaos… That would be a poor decision. Chon'sin, for one, is in no condition to be entrusted with one of the gemstones. Moreover, it would be dangerous to leave the Fire Emblem in Ylisstol…" He nodded. "Very well, I agree. It would be best if the Fire Emblem were to stay in your possession during your venture into the Outrealms."

"Thank you. I wish you could have come to that conclusion sooner, though."

"However, we _will_ have this conversation again as soon as you return," the king added. "And I swear I'll convince you somehow."

Chrom laughed. "I'm not sure if I should look forward to it, or be terrified."

The king chuckled. "Well, I suppose that's all. I am glad we could speak, Chrom."

Chrom and the king stood, and they shook hands. "I as well. Safe travels, Your Highness."

* * *

The Outrealm Gate loomed in the center of the clearing. It stood peacefully, seemingly in wait for the approaching Shepherds.

"Oh my gods. I've seen this before."

Chrom stared at the Outrealm Gate, whose doors lay open. He hadn't been sure what to expect of the Gate, but it was remarkably unassuming for all he had heard of it; it held the shape and size of a normal double door, with its most abnormal traits being its remote location, and what the Gate contained.

Within the doors was an enormous, blue… clock, perhaps? Chrom couldn't describe it, but he knew exactly what it was. "Lucina arrived in this."

Anna nodded, beaming. "She sure did! How did you _think_ she traveled through time?"

"I just knew that Naga was involved," Chrom said. "I didn't think there would be these… doors, in the middle of the woods, on an island south of Ylisse! How long has this been here?"

"Forever, I guess," Anna said, scratching her head. "It isn't usually open, or visible, for that matter. Lucina must have unlocked it when she traveled back in time."

"That is true. This appears to be the portal through which I arrived." Lucina stepped forward, nodding at the Gate. "I did not know anything of this, either. I had merely assumed Naga used her divine power to send me back in time, but… she insists she is not a goddess, so here lies our answer." Her eyes narrowed. "To a certain extent of 'answer'…"

"Yeah," Anna said, bobbing her head in agreement. "She's not a goddess, but she's got godlike power. Basically all that's keeping her from for-realsies divinity is that she was born and raised, like any other Manakete."

Lucina stared at her. "Miss Anna… I very much want to know how you know all of this. We could talk for hours."

Anna winked. "Girl's gotta have her secrets, dearie! If you wanna know, ask Naga. It's _her_ life."

Lucina frowned, disappointed.

Chrom's eyes hadn't left the Outrealm Gate since they had arrived. "Lucina, I… I have a terrible feeling about this."

"It's merely cold feet, Father," replied Lucina. "Fear of the unknown. I felt the same way last time, but I knew that I must take the leap forward if I were to save the world." She shrugged. "I suppose these are… much lower stakes, but the idea is the same."

Chrom started nodding to himself. "You… are probably right… But I must make sure we are absolutely ready." He finally pried his eyes off of the Gate and turned to face his army. "We are to set up camp! We enter the Outrealms in the morning."

Lucina sighed. "Very well, Father."

* * *

Chrom opened his tent flap to find Maribelle and Sumia conversing within. They both turned to face him as he entered.

Chrom nodded to Sumia. "Thank you for coming, Sumia, but you really didn't have to."

Sumia grasped her crutch and stood from Chrom's bed. "Hey, Captain."

"Hey." Chrom frowned. "You know that I can't, in good conscience, allow you to come with us to the Outrealms."

"I do know," she said. "I'm a liability, I understand that." She gestured with her broken arm. "Not much good to you if I can't even fight."

"Now hold on," interjected Maribelle. "We are bringing Cynthia along, and _her_ arm is broken as well."

"Hers will heal in a matter of days," said Chrom. "She can perform non-combat roles until then. Sumia, however, is far too injured to even help with menial tasks. She needs to recover."

"B-But… shouldn't she be with us if we find Robin?" Maribelle asked indignantly. "Sumia, above anyone, should be there for that!"

Sumia forced a smile, touching Maribelle's arm. "Maribelle, it's all right. I want to stay. It hurts to even stand here talking. Chrom even brought a guard to escort me home."

Chrom smiled, extending a hand. "Sumia, your understanding does me much good. Thank you for seeing us off."

Sumia shook it. "Of course, Captain. Be back soon, okay?"

"And your husband will be in tow," Chrom said. "For real this time."

Sumia smiled, and she left the tent.

Chrom turned to Maribelle, and his expression soured at the sight. Maribelle's arms were crossed, and her eyes were cast aside. "Oh, boy," Chrom said. "I know that look. Am I about to get chewed out?"

"How could you not bring Sumia?!" Maribelle exclaimed. "She needs this! Do you understand what that poor girl has _been_ through?"

"I absolutely do," said Chrom. "I understand more than anyone. I was there every step of the way."

"Hmph!"

"I was also there when she fought Grima," said Chrom. "There was a point when she was fighting Grima one-on-one. She was forced to fight someone with her husband's appearance, and worst of all, she lost. Grima beat her within an inch of her life; beat _all_ of us within an inch of our lives, but she got it by far the worst. Grima subjected her to verbal torture, and personally beat her down. …The Sumia that came out of that fight… isn't the same one that went into it. She needs both physical and psychological recuperation."

Maribelle frowned. "B-But…!"

Chrom sighed. "The most important thing is that she _wants_ to stay, Maribelle. Please respect her wishes."

Maribelle pouted. "How I hate it when you have a point…"

Chrom grinned, taking her in his arms. She didn't protest. "Sorry, Maribelle. You can't win _every_ argument."

"Hey now. I won't accept _that_ without a fight."

Chrom laughed.

* * *

"M-Mom! Hey, Mom!"

Sumia turned. "Cynthia…"

Cynthia ran over to Sumia, and stopped just in front of her, breathing heavily. "Mom, I… I wanted to… I…"

Sumia frowned sadly.

Cynthia's heart raced. This was to be the first conversation they had had since the end of the war. She couldn't mess this up. She couldn't keep avoiding her mother forever.

She adjusted her arm in its cast uncomfortably. "…After Dad disappeared, I panicked, and I went to you for comfort," Cynthia explained slowly. "I… never should have told you about my last words to Dad… I love you, Mother, and I'm really, really sorry."

"Cynthia… I can hardly look you in the eye anymore," said Sumia forlornly. "Those words were unspeakable. I can't believe you could even _say_ them, much less at the time you did. It must have killed Robin to hear his daughter say that."

"I know," Cynthia choked. Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm _sorry."_

Sumia looked away. "I… can't forgive you, Cynthia."

Cynthia was crushed. Her olive branch lay broken in the dirt. "M-Mom…!"

Sumia's next words were delivered with chilling bluntness. "I can't forgive you unless Robin does."

"B-But… what if we can't…?" pleaded Cynthia, as she began to cry.

"Then you'd better find him, I suppose." Sumia turned and limped away. "Good luck."

She left Cynthia standing there, utterly lost. Cynthia saw the irony in the reversal…

* * *

Sumia steeled herself as she walked away. A consuming self-hatred arose in her for her harshness to Cynthia, but she still couldn't find it in her heart to forgive her daughter.

Even now, though—even after all she had been through—a light broke through her cynicism.

 _When… When Cynthia returns, I'll…_

She quickly wiped away a tear.

 _Our family has been broken for too long. When Cynthia and Morgan come home, with or without Robin… I'll make things work._

Sumia glanced over her shoulder, but Cynthia was gone.

 _I will. I'm sorry._

* * *

Nah heard the rustling of her tent flap, and she turned, startled. "Morgan?" she asked, standing to greet the newcomer.

Morgan beamed, rushing over to hug Nah. "Nah! How have you _been,_ girl?"

Nah grunted as Morgan enveloped her in a tight embrace. "Oof! E-Er… I've been better, I guess?"

"Aw, don't be like that!" Morgan pulled back, still grasping Nah's shoulders, and looked her up and down. "You look _great!"_

Nah blinked. "Th-Thanks…? Your eye looks much better…"

Morgan touched her black eye. "Yeah, I can open it and everything! But enough about me." She sat on Nah's bed, and patted the spot next to her eagerly. "Let's talk, just me and you! Like old times."

"Morgan…" Nah sighed. "I know what this is about. You don't have to feel guilty."

"Wha—guilty? About what, silly?"

"We _used_ to be friends," Nah said. "Friends… drift apart, it happens. You don't have to make anything up to me."

Morgan frowned, upset. "Hey, yes I do! I, like, _neglected_ you for months! I was really mean to you!"

"No you weren't." Nah crossed her arms. "You don't even know the meaning of the word 'mean.' 'Mean' is discriminating against me for being a Manakete. For not talking to me because I'm different. _You_ just had your own life to deal with; your own family to live with. I didn't, so I fell by the wayside. It's okay. Manaketes are loners by nature." She smiled wanly. "You're off the hook, Morgan. Clear your conscience."

Morgan stood, indignant. "No, I _do_ know what mean is! 'Mean' is someone who isn't there for her best friend, and because of that, said best friend is emotionally vulnerable!"

Nah was taken aback.

"You said it yourself, two days ago in the medical wing!" Morgan continued. "You said: 'Robin was able to take advantage of me because I was so emotionally vulnerable.' That's on me, Nah! I was your best friend, and I didn't stay with you after the war was over!" She grinned. "But that changes now! You and me, we are besties again, and I won't take no for an answer!"

"M-Morgan…" Nah murmured. "Am I… really your best friend?"

"Damn right you are! I love you! Platonically, of course. Though I won't deny you are quite easy on the eyes."

"Um…" Nah brushed her hair behind her ear. "Wow, I… Thanks, Morgan."

Morgan beamed, and sat down on Nah's bed again. Nah sat next to her this time.

"All right, Nah!" Morgan said, excitedly clapping her hands together. "Whaddya wanna do, or talk about, or whatever? I am _here_ for you!"

Nah's tent flap lifted again, and Chrom poked his head in. "Ah, Morgan! Could I speak to you for a moment?"

"Sure thing!" Morgan stood and left. "Sorry, Nah, gotta go!" she called over her shoulder.

Nah watched her go, dumbstruck. "A-Ah…"

* * *

Morgan playfully clasped her hands behind her back and smiled up at Chrom. "So what's up, Captain?"

Chrom blinked, momentarily surprised to hear Sumia's appellation for him come from Morgan's mouth. Then, he shook his head and resumed. "Based on accounts from Anna and Yen'fay, it looks like we're going to be facing a lot of combat in the Outrealms. Though our enemies will likely be strong, they will still be normal enemies and use normal, human tactics."

"Sure."

"So, I would like to offer you the position of tactician of this army," said Chrom, a slight smile on his face.

Morgan's eyes widened with childlike wonder. "Whoa… Really? My dad's position?"

"The very same. I can think of no person more capable and suited to the task."

"Wow…!" Morgan grinned. "Absolutely! I won't let you down, Chrom!"

Chrom smiled. "Great!" He patted her on the shoulder. "I have faith in you, Morgan. You'll do great."

* * *

The sky was darkening before Chrom knew it.

He had checked their provisions a dozen times. Their convoy was packed to the brim with weapons and equipment, more than they could possibly need. Everyone was armed, ready, and able to take an adventure the next morning.

Nothing could calm Chrom's anxiety, but he recognized that, and he knew, most importantly, that he needed sleep. He bid farewell to Sumia and her royal escort, and he returned to his tent.

Maribelle already lay in bed, reading a book by candlelight. She glanced up at Chrom as he entered, and she shut her book and removed her reading glasses. "Hello, dear."

Chrom sighed deeply, undoing his armor as he spoke. "Hey, Maribelle."

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Are you still nervous?"

"Unbelievably." Chrom hung his shoulder pauldron on a coat rack, and followed suit with his cape. "I was ready and eager to go into the Outrealms, ready to go save Robin. I mean, why wouldn't I be? Robin's my best friend, my partner. Every fiber of my being wanted to get out of that damn castle and run to the Outrealms, alone if I had to. But then…" He grimaced. "I just… I saw that door, and all of that went away. I was—and I'm sorry if I gag while saying this—but I was _afraid."_ The word was bitter on Chrom's tongue. "That door does _not_ belong on this earth."

Maribelle frowned. "I saw it too. It was strange, certainly, but didn't inspire that sort of feeling in me…"

Chrom shook his head. "I know. I asked around, and the others said more or less the same thing. It's just me, I guess." He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to kick over the coat rack. "It's—frustrating! I feel like a coward for being afraid of a _door."_

"Chrom, you've faced far scarier things without batting an eyelash," said Maribelle with a coy smile. "I'll allow you your one unreasonable phobia."

Chrom rolled his eyes, but he couldn't resist a grin. "Thanks, Maribelle." He slid under the covers next to her. "How about you? Nervous at all?"

"There's a certain level of uncertainty," she said, "but my greatest worry is for our children."

"I feel the same way," said Chrom. "I feel like I have been absent for far too much of Lucina's life already… I fought two wars without her, and now I'm leaving her again."

Maribelle scowled, looking away.

Chrom grimaced. "I'm sorry… that's still a sore subject, I suppose."

"I haven't entirely forgiven you yet."

"It was unavoidable," said Chrom. "I couldn't possibly have brought you to fight Robin with me. _Somebody_ had to watch our and Sumia's children while we battled him, and we didn't have time to find a nanny or anything. Hell, I didn't even have time to get _Lucina."_

"When I was healing Morgan, she gave me a very detailed, very _graphic_ account of your battle," said Maribelle. "I know of every injury you sustained, even though you tried to get them healed as quickly as possible so I wouldn't worry."

"Curse her eidetic memory," Chrom muttered inwardly. Then, to Maribelle, "What would have changed if you were there?"

Maribelle gave him a sideways, knowing look. "Put yourself in my shoes, Chrom."

"Ah." Chrom immediately understood. "I'm sorry, Maribelle. But if you were in _my_ shoes, you would be making the same explanation to me: nothing would have changed if I was there." He shrugged mischievously. "Although I do have the whole only-one-worthy-of-Falchion thing going for me…"

Maribelle smiled. "…You know what I would tell me, if I were you? I would say, this isn't Lucina's future. In this timeline, people come back from wars."

Chrom grinned. "You know me well. I love you so much."

"Hee hee. I love you too."

* * *

Chrom peered over Maribelle's shoulders, and sighed with disappointment upon finding her eyes closed and her chest heaving with the rhythm of sleep.

Chrom rolled over, unable to find a comfortable position. He could still feel the Gate out there, somewhere, still glowing that arcane blew aura, that clock still ticking within.

No, it wasn't a clock… it was an _eye._

Goosebumps raised on his arms when he imagined it. He scowled with irritation at the sensation; he was as a child scared by the dark.

He turned his thoughts to the past instead. Robin. How he missed his friend; during the war, they could converse about anything for hours and hours. Many a night, they skirted sleep entirely from talking—those were far more entertaining all-nighters than his current one.

Chrom smiled at a particular memory…

* * *

"Robin!"

Robin jerked awake, quickly wiping drool from the corner of his mouth. "I-I'm awake," he slurred.

Chrom grinned. "I think we should call it a night."

"No, no…" Robin murmured dryly, sorting through his maps that he had knocked out of perfect alignment in his sleep. "We… aren't through planning."

"The battle is already all but won," said Chrom. "The Grimleal waiting for us will stand no chance. We already know what terrain and enemy types to watch out for, and have outfitted accordingly."

Robin squinted with sleep-addled eyes, trying to arrange his maps back to perfection. His hand slipped, and the map slid askew once again. "We aren't ready… yet…" he muttered, his irritation growing the more he failed. "It's not… perfect. Our plans aren't—" The map slid again, and Robin growled loudly. He grasped the map, crumpled it, and threw it at the wall with force.

Chrom's smile died. "Robin, we… we're ready. We can't achieve perfection; we can only get so close."

"Yes we can!" exclaimed Robin. He rubbed his eyes fervently, followed by slapping his own cheeks, forcing himself awake. "Valm was a perfect war for us. The war to end all wars. Ylisse didn't suffer a single casualty in any battle. _That's_ the ideal to live up to, and live up to it I _will_."

Chrom put a hand on Robin's shoulder. "Nobody will die, I swear it. We have a team of elite, invincible Shepherds, and the finest tactician the world has ever known. And this is only a mere skirmish." He smiled. "We'll make it; all of us."

Robin raised his pointer finger. "Even one casualty means we've lost. One, and my reputation dies. One, and everything the Shepherds stand for crumbles." He turned around in his chair, looking up at Chrom with baggy, bloodshot eyes. "Do you understand that pressure? I do. I also understand the feeling of defeat. Our victory over Plegia was absolutely pyrrhic, because of the loss of Ylisse's Pegasus Knights and…" Sleep-addled though he was, Robin bit his tongue, having enough sense and tact to not bring up Emmeryn.

Chrom frowned, changing the subject. "When is the last time you got a full night's sleep?"

"Hah. After defeating Walhart, maybe," Robin joked.

Chrom and Robin chuckled together.

"Well, you look terrible, Robin. I know you are an amazing fighter, like any of us here, but if you don't get some sleep, even lowly Grimleal could get the better of you."

"…I'm sorry," Robin said suddenly.

"F-For what?"

"For worrying you." Robin stood. "I will get some sleep now."

Chrom squinted skeptically. "What's this all of a sudden?"

"You're right," said Robin plainly. "I need sleep, so I'll get some. And since this is my tent, you should return to yours and get some sleep, yourself. Sumia will return from scouting in a few hours, and you probably shouldn't be here then."

Chrom analyzed Robin for a quiet moment. "…You're trying to make me stop bugging you about sleep. You're going to get right back to tactics as soon as I leave."

"Wha—That's not true!"

Chrom smirked, and with a swift motion, marched over and sat on the floor next to Robin's bed. He smugly watched Robin. "I'm staying here with you, all night if I have to."

Robin rolled his eyes. "You've _accidentally_ fallen asleep here before, but this is new."

"You get on this bed, right now."

"That would be the worst thing to hear if someone walked in at this moment."

"Enough with the jokes, Robin! Get some sleep, _now._ That's an order."

"When's the last time you've given _me_ an order?"

"Hey, I'm the Exalt. You'll listen to me when I talk to you."

Robin sighed, weighing his options. Chrom still wore that infuriating smirk, and even patted Robin's bed enticingly.

 _Sleep wouldn't be so bad, I guess,_ he thought. _How I wish the human body didn't require sleep. Such a waste of time._

Robin doused his lamp and slowly trudged over to the bed.

"Atta boy," said Chrom as Robin lay down. "Now _stay_ there."

"Yeah, yeah…"

* * *

 _He has to be asleep by now._ Robin peered over the edge of his bed, and to his satisfaction, there laid Chrom, on the floor, his eyes closed and his breathing even.

Robin grinned, slowly easing himself out of bed a toe at a time. He took a cautious step toward his desk, trying to maintain his stealthy movement.

Then, a tight grip clamped around his ankle, causing him to yelp in alarm. He attempted to jump away, but only succeeded in tripping onto the ground.

Within a second, Chrom was on top of him, violently trying to pull Robin to his feet. "I— _knew_ you would—you—sneaky—bastard!"

"It's not perfect yet! It isn't!" Robin struggled against Chrom's grip.

The two wrestled for a moment.

A faint voice came from outside: "Chrom! Robin! Chr—!" The tent flap flew open, and who else but Maribelle stepped in, wielding a lantern. "Oh gods! What is going on here?!"

Chrom still had Robin pinned on the ground in a compromising position. Both blinked up at Maribelle, nonplussed.

"W-Well, get off of him!" Maribelle insisted, gesturing violently at Chrom. Chrom hastily complied, putting platonic distance between him and his friend. "Goodness gracious, that sort of thing is taboo!"

Robin and Chrom both made hasty excuses over each other, in vain attempts to assure Maribelle of their firm passion for the opposite gender. Maribelle raised a hand, shushing them with "Upupup! I don't want to hear it! Anyway: my news is far, _far_ more pressing."

Chrom cleared his throat awkwardly, refusing to meet Robin's eye. "W-Well, I'm, uh, eager to hear it."

"This isn't a normal milk run, my dears." Maribelle had a delighted twinkle in her eye. "There are Grimleal in this area for a _reason._ A very, very pertinent reason to our interests."

"Vaguer, please," said Robin dryly. "I understand too well."

"Oh, hush!" said Maribelle excitedly. "It's the villagers! _They have Emmeryn with them!"_

* * *

Chrom smiled, a warm feeling crawling over him at the memory. Fears of the Outrealm Gate had been entirely cleansed of him. _That… was a good day._

Not another thought crossed his mind before sleep, at last, overtook him.

* * *

Chrom laced up his gloves, unable to fight a small grin.

Maribelle glanced over at him as she brushed her hair. She caught his smile. "You look chipper this morning, love."

"I don't know what it is, I just… Thoughts of Robin empowered me, Maribelle."

"Oh, gods, not this again."

 _"I was trying to get him to go to sleep!"_ Chrom insisted. "Honestly, Maribelle, that was a whole year ago, yet still you tease me."

Maribelle giggled to herself.

"Anyway…" Chrom's eyes went far away. "I've been thinking of Robin as this… concept. This ideal hero that the world knows him as. This… dead man. But last night, for the first time in months, I remembered him as he was: a person. A flawed person, but a great one nonetheless, and most importantly, my best friend. That thought—the thought that Robin could be back with us—is empowering. Now, I have no qualms, no fear. I don't care what the Outrealm Gate holds in its eldritch depths—I will quash it, and _force_ it to take me to Robin. I _will_ find my friend. The family of Shepherds will be restored." He grinned with determination as he pulled the string in his gauntlets taut, completing his armor, and turned to face his wife. "Maribelle. I am going to make a speech before the Shepherds. And then, we are going to find him."

Maribelle was breathless, her lips slightly parted, and stood still and silent for a short while. Without a word, she strode closer, wrapping her arms around Chrom and kissing him firmly. Chrom stumbled, surprised.

After a passionate moment, Maribelle pulled away. "I have never been more attracted to you than I am right now," she stated.

Chrom grinned dumbly. "W-Wow, I, uh…"

"Those words are _exactly_ the kind of thing that made me fall in love with you," said Maribelle. "You are absolutely right! We are going to—to—find the _hell_ out of Robin!" She kissed him again.

Chrom didn't resist for one second.

* * *

Chrom stared into the gaping maw of the Outrealm Gate. The entire formation of Shepherds stood at his back, and with them, he felt no fear, no powerlessness.

 _There is nothing on this earth, or any other earth, that could stop me when I have my friends at my side._

He turned away.

Chrom surveyed all of the Shepherds before him. He nodded to his left at his new tactician, Morgan, and to his right at his wife, Maribelle.

"Everyone," he called out to the crowd, finding his words. "Robin was a close friend of mine—of ours!" Confidence and determination welled in him. "He is a father, husband, and tactician, and has earned his place as a hero to the entire world!" He looked around, meeting eye after eye. "So—to all of you—I have this to say…" Chrom heard Maribelle's breath catch with excitement, and more than a little lust; _"…Let us find him, and bring him home!"_ He drew the exalted blade of Falchion, and thrust it skyward.

The crowd erupted into an enthusiastic roar, raising their fists in acknowledgement.

Chrom grinned widely, and turned around, facing the menacing Outrealm Gate before him. He pointed Falchion into the future. "We're coming for you, Robin…" Softly, and more to himself than anyone else, he added: "Wait for us."

The army entered the Gate, into the Outrealms and the infinite worlds beyond.

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 2_ – _**Champions of Yore**_


	2. Champions of Yore

Chapter 2: **Champions of Yore**

* * *

Chrom rolled over onto his back. He touched his nose and brought back blood.

Grunting, he sat up, allowing the ringing in his ears to subside. He grasped at his pounding head.

"Wh-Where are we…?" he muttered, clutching at the sunlit grass around him. He could hear the ocean…

"Father."

Chrom looked toward the voice, and there crouched a worried Lucina.

"Father, are you all right?"

"Y-Yeah." Chrom slowly got to his feet, assisted by Lucina. Looking around, he determined that they were now standing in a field, seemingly on a small island. "What happened…?"

Lucina pursed her lips. After a tense moment, she nearly spoke, but was interrupted by a newcomer.

"Thank the gods above!"

The unfamiliar voice turned Chrom's head. Before Chrom stood a bewildered old man, a relieved smile growing across the man's gray-bearded face.

"My _saviors!"_ The elderly man hopped on his toes with glee. "My boy, you've shown up at just the right time!"

Chrom shook his head, his senses regained—though his headache refused to relent. "What are you talking about?" he asked suspiciously. "Where are we?"

"We'll worry about that later!" the man urged, his smile falling. "Right now, I need your help! There's a buncha dangerous goons takin' a gander at my hiney right about now, and I'm no fighter, I tell you what!"

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed. He understood full well the meaning behind the old man's words, but the delivery could use some work. "Who are they?"

"I said we'll worry about that later! Point is, there's five of 'em, and—well, on any other day, I'd take 'em on no problem, but… my _neck,_ it's all—"

"Fine," Chrom said, silencing the man with a hand. "We'll help you."

The old man clasped his hands together, beaming. "Thank the heavens!"

Chrom turned to face Lucina. He quickly realized most of the Shepherds also stood behind him, having heard every word.

"Morgan," Chrom called.

"Yes?" the voice piped in, and the tactician pushed her way to the front of the crowd.

Chrom grinned. "It's time for you to earn your keep."

An excited, fear-enhanced jolt ran down Morgan's spine. "Y-Yessir!"

Chrom turned to the rest of the Shepherds. "Have a headcount ready by the time we return," he ordered. "I want everyone and everything accounted for." He faced Lucina. "You're with me," he said. After picking the nearest fighters to him—Laurent, Virion, and Cordelia—he faced the old man once again.

"Which way?"

The old man pointed to the mountainous west. "Over there—the west side o' the island. They were holed up in that there castle, last I saw."

Morgan scratched her head. _Holed up?_

"Right." Chrom gestured for his squad to follow. "Let's go."

"Oh, good!" the old man said excitedly. "Good luck! Give 'em one from Old Hubba!"

* * *

Morgan mumbled to herself as she walked. Her pupils were dilated, and she kept glancing over her shoulders, trembling.

Chrom chuckled. "Morgan," he said, breaking the silence. "Relax. I get the whole expect-the-unexpected thing, but you'll do fine. You are your father's daughter."

She took a breath and smiled. "Yeah, you're probably right. Geez, it's not like me to stress so much."

Chrom looked ahead. The small mountains to the west had been obscuring the castle Hubba had spoken of, but he now saw a lonely battlement poking out, a vaguely familiar flag blowing in the wind.

Also to the west, the glint of a small village caught his eye. "Morgan," he asked, "what do you make of that village over there?"

"Hmm…" she murmured thoughtfully, taking a long moment to prepare her answer.

Chrom sighed impatiently—hopefully, this slowness would die out as Morgan gained more experience.

"…Yeah, we should go there first," Morgan mumbled. "Wouldn't hurt, at the least, and at best, we root out an ambush they planned to throw while we sieged the castle."

"Ambush? Siege?" Virion chimed in. "I'm quite certain that the elderly fellow said there was a mere five enemies afoot."

Morgan flushed red. "O-Oh! Right… he did say that."

A lull in the conversation. They kept walking.

"Chrom, should I fly ahead?" Cordelia asked. "I could scout out the enemy's fortifications."

"I think caution is best for the moment," Chrom answered. "We'd best not split up any more until we know what kind of enemies these Outrealms hold." He glanced aside. "We… _are_ in the Outrealms, right?"

"I believe so," Lucina replied. "We stepped through the gate, after all. I have to say, though… my experience is rather limited. When I traveled through time, I immediately appeared in Ylisse, on the night the Risen first appeared. Nothing in-between."

"Really? Hm."

Chrom frowned thoughtfully. Two days ago, Yen'fay had told him that his trip through the Outrealms was a perilous journey. A _journey._ Lucina's claim didn't necessarily contradict this, but it did raise more questions.

He sighed. He had enough questions on his plate already.

Lucina turned to the squad's mage, a question on her tongue. "Laurent—"

A flicker of purple, and suddenly Chrom was on the ground.

"Oof!" he grunted as the air left his lungs, and he hazily reached for Falchion.

"Stop right there," a woman's voice said coolly. Chrom felt cold steel press against his throat.

Chrom blinked, taking in the sight before him. A red-haired woman crouched over him, a stony expression on her face as she carefully watched Chrom's allies.

"Nobody move," she stated plainly. "You—woman. Hands off the lance."

Cordelia grimaced and dropped her weapon.

"Who are you, assassin?" Lucina demanded.

The redhead assessed Lucina with an unchanged expression. "Call off your forces."

Lucina furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head, uncomprehending. "What are you talking about?"

A flutter of wings drew their attention. A small pegasus alighted nearby, its blue-haired rider grinning fiercely.

"Nice one, Leila!" said the pegasus rider. "You got 'em!"

"I won't ask again," the assassin repeated, ignoring the pegasus rider. "Return to your old leader and tell him to pull back."

Chrom winced as the knife drew blood. "Hey," he snarled. "I don't know what's going on here, but you're starting to make me angry! Why are you chasing that old man?"

Leila's eyes narrowed. "Don't play stupid."

"Gods, who even _are_ you?" Morgan exclaimed. "Somebody explain something!"

"We're the guys about to kick your butts," the pegasus rider interjected confidently. "Oi, Fir! Come on out, we've got 'em licked!"

A dark-haired girl dropped from a nearby tree. She tightly clutched a foreign katana as she approached.

"Is this all, Shanna?" Fir asked. "Only five of them?"

 _Five?_ Morgan thought, glancing around. _Me, Chrom, Lucy, Cords, Laurent... Where's—_

An arrow whistled by Morgan's ear, rustling her hair. It sunk deep into Leila's arm and twisted her off of Chrom; she gasped for air as she lay on her back, but it wasn't even a moment before a horse-bound axeman swept her up.

"You asked for it!" Shanna shouted, her pegasus starting to take flight. "Lex, you good? How's Leila?"

"She'll be fine!" said the axeman, shooting her a thumbs-up. He set Leila down nearby; an elderly healer appeared from the brush and began to mend Leila's wound.

Shanna grinned at the swordmaster below her. "Fir, let's go to town!"

Fir frowned. "But Leila's out, and Wrys can't fight—Shanna, there's six of them versus three of us!"

"Oh yeah?" Shanna demanded. "When have numbers _ever_ mattered? When did _Roy_ ever care about numbers?"

Fir hesitated. "Y-You're right! Let's do this!" She grasped her sword and faced the enemy. "Watch out for that archer!"

"I'm on him," said Lex. "Can I count on you to get those others, Shan?"

She winked. "You know it!"

* * *

Chrom climbed to his feet, still a little winded. "Who are these people?"

"Dunno," said Morgan, "but it's looking like we're gonna fight." She looked over her shoulder. "Virion, watch out, you've got a guy incoming!"

"You had me at 'fight'," Chrom said, drawing Falchion. "What's the plan?"

"Uh… Win," said Morgan. "This isn't really a place for strategy, Chrom, this is just a brawl!"

As if to emphasize Morgan's assessment, Fir the swordmaster dashed forward, initiating the fight.

Fir leveled a killing blow at Lucina's neck; Lucina ducked under the strike and partway drew her Falchion, the butt of the sword crashing into Fir's gut.

Fir staggered backward, clutching her stomach. She then readied her sword, the Wo Dao, as Lucina drew hers.

* * *

Cordelia and Shanna took flight, circling each other in the air.

Shanna darted in, her lance pointed forward, but Cordelia swerved her pegasus to dodge the attack. Cordelia had no opening to launch an attack of her own, so she retreated, and the two pegasus knights circled each other once again, dancing in the skies in their attempts to land a hit.

* * *

"Captain," Morgan said. "Go—I mean, _please_ go, and help out Virion, okay?"

"Just give me the order without the fluff," Chrom sighed impatiently, and hurried after Lex.

Morgan took a breath and nodded. "O-Okay." She pointed at Laurent. "Hey, nerd! Try to snipe their peg knight, 'kay? I'll see how I can help Luce!"

Laurent sighed. He was already less than pleased with Chrom's choice of tactician. "Very well, Morgan. Might I suggest you take up a sword instead of magic, if you intend to combat the myrmidon?"

Morgan nodded. "You got it!"

Laurent turned his eyes upward. He could instantly tell which of the two circling pegasi was Cordelia's: the Ylissean pegasus was much larger than the Outrealm one.

He touched his Elwind tome and concentrated, adjusting his glasses. After waiting a moment to perfect his timing, he knifed his hand upward, and a gale of tearing wind shot forth.

Shanna noticed the incoming blast of magic at the last moment, and struggled to wrench her pegasus to the side—but it was too late, and the winds buffeted her mount, lacerating the creature's right wing. Shanna swiftly guided the flying beast toward the ground, muttering about "cheaters" under her breath.

* * *

Lucina deflected two strikes from the swordmaster, her confidence growing. Fir was talented for certain, and possessed great speed and grace with the sword—but she lacked finesse. Each of the myrmidon's attacks were haphazard, and even when Lucina provided openings, Fir would not take them.

Lucina smiled slightly at the thought that perhaps Fir's nerves were getting to her.

Fir gritted her teeth irritably. _Is she smiling?!_ She redoubled her efforts, taking the offensive.

Lucina easily parried Fir's following onslaught, and ended her defense by swatting the Wo Dao aside with Falchion and ramming Fir with her shoulder.

Fir stumbled onto the ground, but was quickly back on her feet. Lucina twirled her blade as she waited for Fir to collect herself.

"You are too focused on offense," said Lucina. "Defense is just as important. Don't let me bait out your attacks, or your defeat quickly follows."

"You sound like Noah," Fir snarled, and charged back in.

Lucina, as promised, baited out the attack. She sidestepped Fir's lunge, grasped Fir's wrist, and drove her knee into Fir's diaphragm.

Lucina stepped past her opponent, and Fir doubled over, gasping for breath; the Wo Dao fell from her grip. Lucina sheathed Falchion, her back to Fir.

"Don't pick up your sword," Lucina said calmly. "You've lost."

Fir stared at the dirt, her eyes wide. She stared blankly at the sword next to her, but did not pick it up.

Morgan approached, sword drawn, and moaned loudly at the fight already having ended.

* * *

The steel axe shortened a few of Virion's hairs as it swung by.

Virion quickly scrambled back to his feet as Lex circled his horse around for another pass. Virion lifted his bow and nocked a fresh arrow, closing one of his eyes as he took aim.

Lex turned his horse toward Virion, approaching at an oblique angle to throw off the archer's aim.

"Sssss…" Virion hissed through his teeth. He let the arrow fly.

The arrow pierced the breast of Lex's mount. The beast fell, throwing Lex off.

Virion had no time to celebrate. Lex was already back on his feet, and was closing the distance faster than Virion could take aim.

Lex was practically on top of Virion, a look of bloodlust in the axeman's eyes. Lex's axe came down on Virion's bow, splitting it into clean halves.

Lex struck Virion in the chin with an armored elbow and followed through with the hilt of his axe. Virion lay on his back, his hands covering his pounding face.

Lex took a breath, admiring his handiwork for a moment. "Archers suck," he said with a grin, and raised his axe.

Lex caught a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye, and turned to face his new adversary. Guy definitely seemed heroic. The sword, a fancy one at that… and that posture was definitely lordly. Can't forget the guy's blue hair. Practically Sigurd 2.0.

"What're you, some kind of prince?"

"Something like that," the man replied. "I'm gonna be honest. People who look and act like you guys aren't usually my enemy. Especially your pegasus knight. Is she your sister?"

"Just 'cause we've both got blue hair?" Lex snorted. "So I guess you're my brother, too?"

"Whatever," Chrom sighed. He was starting to get fed up with this sass: it was _not_ helping Chrom's headache. "Are you gonna lay down your axe, or should I take it from you?"

"I like your attitude," Lex challenged, smirking. "Just so you know, I've got tons of experience fighting swords. You don't have any advantage over my weapon type."

"Tons of experience, huh," mumbled Chrom disinterestedly. He twirled Falchion.

Lex readied his axe.

As their fight began, Chrom immediately noticed Lex's slowness. Chrom could easily get in two attacks in the time it would take Lex to launch one.

As their fight began, Lex immediately noticed a series of nuances in Chrom's stance. The way he carried himself forward with each attack, the manner in which he spaced himself—if Lex didn't learn quick, Chrom definitely had the advantage.

Lex grinned. He prided himself in being a fast learner.

Chrom made the mistake of repeating a motion he had made before, and Lex dashed in unexpectedly, where he had retreated before. Chrom tried to step back to give himself some breathing room, expecting Lex to attack and miss, but Lex read him like a book and chased the retreat before swinging his weapon.

Chrom edged his sword between him and the axe, grunting at the close shave. He shoved forward on the sword, pushing Lex off of him.

Lex twirled his axe, still smirking confidently. He hadn't landed a hit, sure, but now Chrom was rattled—the lord would put much more thought into his movements now.

Lex figured Chrom's next move would also be an attempt to get a read on Lex; if Chrom also got a read, it would put them on even footing and boost Chrom's confidence. 'Anything you do to me, I can do right back.'

Meanwhile, if Lex got _another_ read on Chrom instead, then that would completely demoralize his opponent. 'This guy can read my every move.' This next blow could decide the rest of the fight.

 _I'm not gonna give him any opportunities,_ Lex thought. He noticed Chrom tensing up for an attack.

Lex raised his axe in defense as Chrom lunged forward. A high risk-high reward move, Lex realized: Chrom would feint his attack, then attack for real once Lex's guard dropped.

Lex called Chrom's bluff and dashed into the fray. He immediately realized that it was the wrong decision.

Chrom's feint wasn't a feint at all, and Lex ran straight into Chrom's attack. Lex's all-or-nothing callout cost him dearly: Chrom's sword cut into Lex's arm, and Chrom grasped the handle of Lex's axe, intending to pull it from Lex's hands.

The two wrestled over the axe for a moment. Lex grimaced, feeling blood trail down his arm.

With a final shove, Chrom yanked the steel axe from Lex's grip and shouldered the disarmed axeman to the ground.

Chrom pressed the tip of Falchion against Lex's neck, tossing aside the steel axe.

He really wanted to say a victorious one-liner right about now, but his headache was stronger than ever.

Lex grinned, putting his hands up in defeat. "You got me," he said. "Looks like I'm dead meat. Kinda deserve it for going in too hard."

Chrom nodded. "You definitely deserve your loss. Though you aren't half bad, the five of you were outmatched from the beginning."

"Heh!" Lex wiped sweat from his brow. "Say, who are you guys? More of Hubba's goons?"

"I should ask you the same thing," replied Chrom. "Are you from here?"

"Here? This island?" Lex looked around. "Not me. Only Wrys is."

"Then why…?" Chrom trailed off. Lex _was_ his enemy, after all. These questions were better aimed at Hubba. "Never mind. I accept your surrender, if you offer it."

Lex blinked. "Really? Quarter? That's new. Sure thing, princey, I surrender."

Chrom breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Wise choice."

* * *

The return trip to the east side of the island was very quiet. The six Shepherds walked their unarmed prisoners in front of them.

"Lucina." Laurent's voice broke the silence.

Lucina snapped to, as if torn from a trance. "Y-Yes, Laurent? Whatever is the matter?"

Laurent adjusted his glasses. "Prior to our engagement with these ruffians, you seemed on the verge of asking a question of me."

Shanna growled. "Ruffians…"

"Ah, yes," replied Lucina. "But I suppose it can wait."

"I disagree," said Laurent. "I expect a high likelihood that there will be far too much else on our minds once we return to camp. That elderly man has many questions to answer, after all. Therefore, now appears, in fact, to be the best time to ask."

Lucina blinked. "…I see. Well then." She gestured noncommittally. "All I was going to ask of you was your journey to the past. All of us arrived in different times, years apart. It seems possible that we experienced different journeys through the Outrealm Gate."

"My apologies, but I have little to offer in that regard," replied Laurent. "As soon as I stepped through the gate, I appeared in Ylisse, just like you." He averted his eyes. "…My experiences were still quite harrowing, but it was certainly nothing supernatural."

"I see," said Lucina, smiling for him. "We'll speak of such matters at another time."

"As you wish."

* * *

Chrom's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms as he stopped before the gleeful old man. The rest of the Shepherds were absent.

"Goodness, oh my goodness!" Hubba exclaimed, hopping on his toes as he examined the five prisoners. "You did it! And—you didn't even have to kill them?" He blinked. "I didn't think it possible. Didn't think they could be reasoned with! Well, no matter." He beamed up at Chrom. "Thank you muchly, son! You saved this poor old man's hide."

Chrom put up a hand. "All right, Hubba. You owe us some answers."

"Ah, _Old_ Hubba, if ya don't mind," he corrected. "But yes, of course! I'll explain everything at my manse."

"Your… manse?" said Chrom slowly. "Where is it?"

"In a different Outrealm, of course," said Old Hubba jovially. "Come, come! I'll lead ya there. Most of yer party has already gone."

 _So we ARE in the Outrealms,_ Chrom thought, looking around. _I expected something more… alien, I guess._

Old Hubba led Chrom, his five Shepherds, and the prisoners to the west side of the island. They soon stood on the shore, where another Outrealm Gate, identical to the first, regally stood.

"In we go," continued Old Hubba, gesturing with his cane before entering the Gate himself. The Shepherds and prisoners soon followed.

Chrom took a deep breath, staring at the azure portal. _So soon?_

He steeled himself and charged through.

A whirl of sensations hit him, and his mind spun dizzyingly—he squeezed his eyes shut, numbing the feeling.

A rush of black, and some ground materialized beneath his feet, only to rush up to his face.

* * *

Chrom clutched his head as he sat up in the grass. "Ugh…"

"Father," came Lucina's voice—much more anxious this time. She assisted Chrom to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "How about you?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Everyone's fine, but you passed out again."

Chrom paled, his heart sinking into his stomach.

He looked around, and sure enough, his five accompanying Shepherds were all on their feet, watching Chrom with concern.

"I-It's only me?" he asked incredulously. "There's no way!"

"I am afraid so," said Laurent. "Perhaps you have a previously-unknown aversion to such effects. Motion sickness perhaps, or even mild epilepsy."

"Epil—I'm _sure_ I don't have epilepsy!" Chrom exclaimed. "I just—I need to get used to it, is all."

"Maybe so," Morgan chimed in. "Anyway, can we go ahead and check out that mansion over there? It looks freaking cool."

She pointed. Sure enough, an enormous mansion—three stories, possibly more—dominated the surrounding green plains.

More reassuringly, much of the convoy—carriages bearing Ylissean seals—stood outside the mansion, and Chrom could see a few silhouettes taking inventory of the carts. There was also a stable nearby that housed many familiar mounts.

"Must be Hubba's place," Chrom mused. "Where'd he go, by the way?"

"He took our prisoners into his house," said Morgan.

 _'Quarter? That's new.'_

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "Let's go see what he's doing with them."

"S-Sure."

* * *

Chrom entered the mansion, and, unlike Morgan (with her "ooh's" and "ah's"), refused to be impressed by the architecture, even those fancy chandeliers. "Old Hubba?" he called.

"Back here!" the elderly man replied from a different room.

Chrom pointed at Laurent and Virion—Cordelia was in the stables—and ordered, "Find the others, and get me that headcount."

"Yes, milord," Laurent replied, and the two of them left.

Chrom nodded at Lucina and Morgan, and they followed Old Hubba's voice.

* * *

Lucina took in the room as she entered. It was a small study—a desk, several chairs lined up on the wall, and a couch in the corner.

Ten souls occupied the room. Five were the prisoners—Shanna, Fir, Wrys, Lex, and Leila—sitting unrestrained in the chairs by the wall. One was Old Hubba, his hands on his hips and looking down on the prisoners with a rather parental look of scolding. Three more were the newcomers: herself, Chrom, and Morgan.

And the tenth, standing behind Hubba with an absolutely serious look, a regal bearing, and a rigid posture, was the Hero-King Marth.

Lucina's lips parted breathlessly.

"Now," Hubba lectured, not acknowledging the three Shepherds. "One of you's got a few things o' mine. Who wants to fess up and hand 'em over?"

Shanna grimaced. "F-Fine, you got us. Here." She reached into her pocket, producing a trio of what appeared to be cards from within.

Old Hubba raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Obeying an order, even…?" He accepted Shanna's offering. "Well then! Guess that makes us even. Head on over to the baths an' get yourselves washed up, y'hear?"

"Okay."

The five prisoners filed out of the room, leaving behind Old Hubba, the bemused Shepherds, and the most massive elephant any room had ever held.

"What was _that_ about?" Morgan asked. "You acted like their dad or something!"

Old Hubba chuckled. "'Like a father to them,' you'd say? …I like the sound of that, young lady!" He nudged the blue-haired royal by his side. "Whaddya think about callin' me Pops from now on?"

Before Marth could reply, Chrom interjected. "Old Hubba, to be frank, I'm sorta confused and I _definitely_ have a headache, so if we could just clear up some things? First of all, _why_ were those guys after you?"

Lucina looked from her father, to Morgan, to the Hero-King, and back to her teammates. They didn't seem to recognize Marth.

"That's a long story," Hubba chuckled. He patted the Hero-King on the shoulder. "I'll have my friend here explain some things, since I've got a few errands to run."

Chrom ignored him, and pointed at Marth—specifically, at the rapier by the Hero-King's hip. "If you had a guard here all along, why did you need our help?"

"I _had_ guards," Hubba said, gesturing with his three cards, "but, ah… they were stolen, by those fellas you fought."

"Stolen? What?"

"Well, I was… distracted, by their feminine wiles…" Old Hubba lost himself in thoughts of Shanna, a rosy shade alighting on his cheeks.

"Sir," said Marth, speaking for the first time.

Old Hubba awoke. "Ah, yes! But you were there in the nick of time, weren'tcha?"

Chrom's temper began to rise. "Could you answer _one_ question straight, you old—"

Lucina put a hand on Chrom's arm, calming him. She then turned to Old Hubba. "Mister Hubba—"

 _"Old_ Hubba, please, sweetie," said Hubba with a wink. "Ladies love older men."

Lucina cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Very well… Old Hubba." She nodded at Marth. "If I'm not mistaken… is he…?"

"Oh!" Hubba shook his head, chuckling to himself. "I suppose Inrealmers such as yourself wouldn't really be familiar with Einherjar, now wouldja?"

The three Shepherds had no response.

"Definitely something I should leave up to my compatriot here!" said Hubba cheerfully, patting Marth on the chest. "All yours, O Great and Wise Prince Marth."

Hubba watched the others, getting great delight from the realization spreading on their faces.

"…Marth?" Chrom said skeptically. "As in THE Marth?"

Lucina's breath caught. This man, this man standing before her—

"Wow!" Morgan exclaimed, and rushed forward to shake Marth's hand. "It's an honor, Mr. Hero-King!"

"Th-The pleasure is all mine," Marth stuttered.

Old Hubba clapped his hands together. "Well! I'd better be off. Got more Einherjar to locate an' stuff. Have fun!"

Hubba left.

In the very, very long moment of silence that followed, Marth offered seats to the Shepherds: Morgan on the couch and Chrom behind the desk, while Lucina declined and stood next to her father.

Chrom tented his hands before his mouth and rested his elbows on the desk thoughtfully. Lucina tensely stood nearby.

Morgan lay down on the couch, watching Marth with interest.

"I suppose I should begin," said their host. He placed a hand on his chest. "I am, indeed, Marth. The prince of Altea, the descendant of Anri, and the heir to the Falchion."

"'Prince'…?" Chrom muttered. "…How did you get here, Your Highness? I know no tales of time-traveling in the era of the Hero-King…"

"Hero-King?" Marth tilted his head, a curious smile growing on his face. "So that is my legacy?"

His smile quickly died. "That is… Marth's legacy."

Chrom noticed the somberness in Marth's tone.

Silently, Marth reached into his chest pocket and produced a card from within—one very similar in appearance to those that Old Hubba had held. Without a word, Marth placed the card on the desk and slid it across to Chrom.

Chrom slowly picked up the card and inspected it. It held a single line of text:

 _Prince Marth._

It also displayed a rather detailed portrait: what seemed to be a painting of the Marth standing opposite the desk before him.

Lucina peered intensely at the portrait. "I know that painting," she murmured.

"What?"

"It was the only one left of its kind," said Lucina. "The last remaining portrait of the Hero-King in my future. I am… intimately knowledgeable of this picture, as a result." She looked down at her clothes. "It is upon this painting that I styled myself."

Looking between Marth and Lucina, Chrom could see the heavy resemblances in their outfits. He grimaced. "This… is not an accurate painting," he said slowly.

Lucina looked up at him sharply. "What?!"

"This painting was done by my great-great-grandmother," Chrom continued. "We have many portraits of the Hero-King in Ylisstol that portray him much more accurately—even Tiki attested to the precision of one such painting." He gestured at the card. "This painting is a famous one, for certain, but was merely meant to invoke the heroism of the Hero-King, not portray him accurately." He sighed. "…At least, that's what my tutors forced me to learn when I was a child…"

Lucina looked at Marth, at his clothes. "B-But then… Does this not prove you wrong?"

"Milady," said Marth quietly, "I am not… I am not the Hero-King of which your legends speak."

"What do you mean?"

"I am an Einherjar," Marth said. "Merely a… facsimile, of sorts. A being created in the likeness of a champion of yore, with the memories and personality of the one I… imitate." The word seemed bitter on Marth's tongue.

"Okay…" Chrom nodded his head slowly. "So, what does this card have to do with that?"

"Einherjar are summoned via their respective cards," Marth explained. "I take my appearance from that painting's rendition of Marth. Those cards Old Hubba retrieved earlier were also Einherjar—as were the warriors you fought."

 _Those fighters were champions of yore?_ Lucina thought, furrowing her eyebrows. She didn't recognize any of them by name.

"And whomever possesses our card is our master."

"Your _master,"_ Morgan murmured. She could already imagine the usefulness. An army of warriors from the past, all under a tactician's control—what power!

 _Your master,_ Chrom thought. A man bound to an item—enslaved by it. What cruelty.

"So that card is my prison," said Marth simply, gesturing at it. "I'm bound to it."

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced down at the Einherjar card. "Bound to it…"

He grasped the card with both hands, and started to tear it.

Marth inhaled sharply with alarm, took a step forward: "Stop!"

Chrom hesitated, startled, and glanced up at Marth.

"Please put that back down," Marth said anxiously.

Chrom slowly placed the card on the desk.

Marth sighed, relieved. "…That was my fault. I phrased that terribly. My apologies."

Chrom crossed his arms. "You owe me an explanation, you know."

"Of course." Marth breathed deeply. "…It houses our… soul, you could say. Our essence, certainly. Destroying the card is equivalent to destroying the Einherjar."

"I see." Chrom stared down at it, a disappointed sigh coming to the forefront. "Well… Marth…" He scratched his head. "I'm not really sure what to make of all of this."

"It's a lot to take in," Marth sighed. "And I'm afraid there is a significant detail I left out."

"What's that?" asked Morgan.

Marth began: "There are… dozens, perhaps hundreds, of Einherjar cards in the Outrealms. For millennia, Old Hubba has protected the cards, safekeeping them and preventing their misuse."

"Millennia?"

Marth nodded. "Old Hubba is ageless."

"Really? Is he dragonkin?" Lucina asked.

"I've never asked," said Marth. "I have served him for… a century, perhaps? Time is an odd concept in the Outrealms."

Lucina nodded. _"That_ I understand full well…"

"A century?" Morgan asked. "You don't age, either?"

"No," Marth answered. "I am a still frame—a picture in time of Marth. I hold the same appearance I held one hundred years ago."

"Not an _entirely_ still frame," said Chrom. "You can make new memories, learn new things. Otherwise, how would you even know you were an Einherjar?"

"You are correct. As long as I remain outside my card, I can gain memories like any normal person. If I am returned to my card, however, my memories reset to the point captured in the painting."

"Then why ever return?" Lucina questioned.

"If there is no other option," said Marth simply. "If my master wills me to, then I will return to my card; or if I am slain in battle, I return to my card."

Morgan's interest was further piqued. An army of _invincible_ warriors from the past? Endlessly loyal warriors that could die and still return to the fight later?

"I have digressed," said Marth. "As I was saying: Old Hubba protected the vast collection of Einherjar since time immemorial, but that changed recently. A man appeared—an insane man, with a dark, evil air about him. His name is Algol."

"Algol?" Morgan said instantly. "I know that name. Wasn't he…" She snapped her fingers, catching her thoughts. "Oh! Wasn't he a Grimleal we fought?"

"Was he?" Chrom asked, bewildered. _I never remember their names…_

"Riiight, in Plegia Castle!" Morgan said, smiling fondly. "I remember him! Yeah, he was a real bastard."

"This Algol must be from an alternate timeline," said Lucina grimly. "I can only wonder how he gained access to the Outrealms."

"I see," said Marth solemnly. "A man from your world, then. Algol sneaked into the mansion and stole many of Old Hubba's Einherjar cards. It was a long time before any of us noticed. We began hearing reports—reports of Outrealm banditry; reports of Einherjar we had _thought_ secured, instead roaming the many Outrealms… We soon realized what had happened, and Old Hubba made to take his Einherjar back by force—and thus began a long conflict. The Einherjar War. Old Hubba's timeless warriors versus Algol's."

Marth paused.

"Alright, I'm following so far," said Chrom, nodding. "Algol steals stuff, Hubba wants it back; violence ensues."

"Algol outnumbers Old Hubba," Marth explained. "It's a losing venture. That assassination attempt back on Talys, the one that you prevented, could only be the beginning. Old Hubba fears that, without any intervention… this could be a lost cause. All that he has defended for millennia could disappear in less than a year."

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "And, according to Old Hubba… that's where the Shepherds come in."

As if on cue, the door burst open. Old Hubba stood in the doorway, panting and sweaty and distraught.

"Guys!" the old man exclaimed. "I-It's a new lead! I know where Celica is, an' she's got a lot o' Einherjar with her—it's a gold mine!" He gestured. "Well, sonny? Whaddya say?"

Before Chrom could reply, Morgan interjected. "Wait. Hold up." She turned to Chrom seriously. "Captain, remember why we're here in the Outrealms in the _first_ place?"

"You're right," said Chrom. "We're here to find Robin, not get involved in a war."

Marth leaned forward earnestly. "But, milord—"

"This isn't a decision I should make rashly," Chrom interrupted. Lucina raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I'm calling a meeting. Shepherds only. We need to discuss this first before we take action."

"I wholeheartedly agree," said Lucina.

"Me too," Morgan added.

Hubba sighed, shrugging. "Well, Celica ain't going anywhere. Take your time."

Chrom nodded at Lucina and Morgan, and they left the study.

Chrom grimaced. _Another war._

 _…_ _Don't hate me, little Lucina._

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 3 – **Ragnarok**_


	3. Ragnarok

\- ARC 1: **EINHERJAR WAR** -

* * *

Chapter 3: **Ragnarok**

* * *

Nah itched. She could feel the weight of the hundreds of eyes resting upon her.

She glanced at the other two occupants of this balcony, not counting the royal guards behind her. Chrom stood just next to her, speaking loudly for all his people to hear; Sumia was on the other side of him, seeming equally uncomfortable to Nah.

The difference was, Sumia wore a pleasant smile in spite of her obvious injuries, in order to appease the masses. Nah blinked, realizing she should follow suit, and did: she forced a smile for the people of Ylisstol below.

Chrom was speaking: "…And, though it pains me to say this, I must confess the awful truth: the man who was here merely last week, the one we thought to be the Robin we all know and love, was, in fact, an impostor." He frowned grimly, watching the uneasy crowd. "This man attempted to frame Lady Sumia—" He gestured to the girl on his right—"for murder. However! As you can see, the victim of this 'murder' is none other than Lady Nah, who is still among us today." He smiled widely at the girl on his left, an encouraging look in his eyes.

Nah felt additional pressure on her, and waved slightly, hoping that was good enough for everyone.

"We quickly figured out the impostor's plot and undid all of his wrongs," called Chrom, "and Nah survived her murder attempt. And fear not! We have received reliable word that Robin still lives, and…"

Nah closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath.

* * *

Nah twiddled her thumbs as she sat at the oval table. Several other Shepherds also sat around, filling this conference room to the brim—evidently, Chrom had simply grabbed whoever happened to be nearby for his little meeting. Nah certainly didn't feel important enough to be part of Chrom's discussion board…

Meanwhile, Chrom and Maribelle spoke quietly to each other before this meeting began.

"Everyone's present and accounted for, and the same for the items in our convoy," said Maribelle. "I checked when we arrived on the island, and again when we reached the manse." She looked down. "Chrom… I apologize for not consulting you prior to agreeing to our host's offer to come to the manse. I only thought it would be better to rest here than on that small island."

"It's alright," said Chrom. "It all worked out. Is there really enough room for everyone in this building?"

"A few of us will have roommates, but none anyone would object to," said Maribelle with a smile.

Chrom scratched his head. "Huh. That's handy—if Old Hubba doesn't mind, we could use this as a sort of base of operations for now."

"Perhaps so."

Chrom cleared his throat and faced the room. An odd assortment of Shepherds filled the seats at the oval table—upwards of twenty people.

"So," he began.

Nah noticed a small amount of anxiety in his tone—it wasn't like him. Chrom was always the type to be comfortable in front of crowds.

"I'm sure you know why we're here," Chrom continued. "Old Hubba has a bunch of these cards—mythical warriors from legends and whatnot—and some former Grimleal guy stole a lot of them. Now, Old Hubba wants us to help him out in this…" He waved vaguely. "…This 'Einherjar War.'"

"Einherjar 'war'?" Frederick noted, turning heads.

Nah could see the hard skepticism in the knight captain's eyes. She then noticed the smaller woman sitting next to him—Emmeryn seemed much more conflicted.

Frederick continued. "Milord, 'war' is an unfortunate buzzword," he reasoned. "With all due respect, we've had quite enough of those, and I would be hesitant to get involved in another."

"That's exactly why I called this meeting," Chrom said. "This isn't a decision I should make lightly. I need opinions."

Uncomfortable murmurs came from the crowd.

Chrom took a long breath, leaning against the table. "…Okay. We have two options: join in on this conflict and help Hubba, or we keep the search for Robin at the forefront."

Nah blinked, looking around. No one else seemed ready to chime in, so she took it upon herself. "W-Well," she began nervously, "when you put it that way… i-it seems obvious, right? We should stick to the search for Robin."

Several heads nodded in agreement.

"Hold on," said Lucina seriously, leaning forward. "That oversimplifies the choice, Father. What are the ramifications of Marth—" She bit her tongue. "…Of Old Hubba losing this conflict?" She turned to the tactician sitting next to her. "Morgan, you noted the power of the Einherjar. If they all fell in the wrong hands, who knows what kind of destruction Algol could wreak?"

Morgan grimaced. "Y-Yeah, you've got a point, but…"

Lucina turned to Chrom. "Old Hubba lacks the strength and manpower to defeat Algol. We can provide those, while still devoting resources to the search for Robin."

A quiet voice added its weight. "Um…"

The room turned, surprised, to Emmeryn.

Emmeryn stared down at her hands. She couldn't remember the last time she had spoken in front of so many people. "B-But… The, um, the Outrealms… they're supposed to be very dangerous." She looked up at Chrom. "I-If we delay the search… what if we lose him?" She looked around at the concerned listeners. "We shouldn't waste time… right?"

"I agree," Nah added eagerly. She searched for Anna in the crowd, and soon found her. "Y-You know where he is, don't you?"

Anna blinked. "Well, not _exactly._ But we're on his trail an' stuff."

"Right!" Nah faced Chrom. "So if we stick with this trail, we'll find him in no time! And then we can do whatever else."

"Ah, I dunno about _that,"_ Anna said, touching her chin thoughtfully. "He's been gone for months. We're just at his starting point. We could find him real quick, or it could take us forever. It's hard to tell."

Nah soured.

"Lord Chrom, I believe that the immediate concern is the Einherjar," said Laurent. "…I hate to be the naysayer, but to be quite frank, we are not even one-hundred-percent certain that Anna is correct, and Robin is truly alive. The Einherjar are the present concern."

 _"Laurent!"_ Cynthia snapped. "H-How could you—!"

"Cynthia, please," said Chrom.

Anna crossed her arms.

Chrom turned back to Laurent. "I choose to believe Anna's words. We will continue to work under that assumption—that Robin is alive—until we're proven wrong."

"I appreciate the optimism, but we must be realistic here," Laurent replied stoically.

Cynthia seethed quietly.

Lucina shook her head. "…I _do_ believe that Robin is alive. I also believe that we'll find him, and until then, Robin is strong enough to fend for himself." She surveyed the room, meeting each and every Shepherd's eye. "But the Einherjar provide a clear and present danger to not only us, but to _all_ timelines. This Grimleal, Algol, knows of the Outrealm Gate and how to use it. He could potentially travel through time with his immortal army and doom _everything_ we have fought for." She placed her hands on the table, clenched into fists. "I will _not_ have our accomplishments be proven moot by something we can prevent!"

The room was silent for a long moment.

"…You're right."

The eyes of the room fell on Chrom.

"You're absolutely right, Lucina. We simply can't ignore the threat Algol poses." Chrom stood straight. "The Shepherds _will_ assist Old Hubba in his fight."

The room was mostly quiet. Nah glanced at Lucina, and noticed relief in the princess's expression.

"I'm sorry, to those of you who disagree with me," Chrom continued. "I understand that you want to press onward to our goal, but this Einherjar situation is too important to ignore." He smiled. "Have faith. Robin _is_ still out there—of that, I have no doubt. We can wait a little bit longer."

* * *

Old Hubba laughed giddily. Marth, standing next to him, was impassive. "Oh, good! I just _knew_ you would come around! I foreseed it! …Foresaid? Forsook? …Oh, whatever." He clapped his hands eagerly. "On to business, yes?"

"Go ahead." Chrom searched for a seat at the conference table. Most of the Shepherds still sat in their same spots, making this no easy venture, but Chrom soon found a chair next to Morgan.

"Okay!" Old Hubba said cheerfully, looking at the crowd before him. "Heh! I kinda feel like a teacher. How're y'all doing, class?" He laughed, rather enjoying all this attention. He then cleared his throat, scratching his head. "Though I guess teachers don't really get to flirt with students, huh…"

It took Cordelia a long moment to realize Hubba was grinning at her. She quickly flushed red. "G-Go on," she insisted.

Old Hubba snapped out of his trance. "Right! So, who's excited for a little battle? I know I am! Th-Though I won't be fighting, for, uh, obvious reasons… heheh. Anyway! Yer target is a cute little red-haired minx named Celica. I caught her tryin' to follow up on Miss Shanna's work back on Talys, so that's where y'all're gonna go."

"Talys?" Laurent interjected. "We stood, earlier, on the island of Marth's era? That island amalgamated with the central landmass of Ylisse centuries ago, if not millennia."

Chrom noticed the sound of scratching next to him, and turned to see Morgan rapidly jotting down notes. There also seemed to be an abundance of smiley faces and hearts on the paper…?

Marth tilted his head. "Is that so?" He hesitated, thinking of an ally from that island whose company he dearly missed. "…Yes, this is that Talys, holding its appearance from my era. How much time did you say it has been? Two thousand years?"

Old Hubba waved it away. "Whatever," he said, refusing to lose his bubbly attitude in the face of Marth's seriousness. "Anyway, there's eight of 'em. Einherjar, I mean. I know 'em all by name, too… not that you care."

Morgan brightened, gripping her pen tightly. "I do!" She glanced around. "Ahem, I mean, uh, that'd be super helpful, for uh… tactics."

"It would likely be best if we knew as much as we could about our enemies," Lucina noted.

Hubba beamed. "Oh, I like y'all!"

He started to count on his fingers.

"Aight. Firstly, we've got Celica—she's a mage mostly, though she can use swords, but her big thing is that tome she's got. Ragnarok. Super strong spell—makes big booms, know what I'm saying?"

"I believe I know that name," Virion said, tapping his chin. "Does this Celica have a hand in Valm's history?"

"Sure does!" Then, Old Hubba continued. "Celica's got a couple of paladins with her—now, these guys, these guys really mean business. Their names are Marcus and Titania, and they're prolly the biggest threats you'll face. Like, they're _seriously_ tough. An' Titania, hoo boy… She's got the body of a goddess.

"Ahem! Then we've got a couple of mages, Boey an' cutie Mae; an archer, smokin' Rebecca; a sexy myrmidon named Mia, an' a shy beauty what goes by Nephenee."

Chrom pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's… way too many names, old man. I couldn't follow that." _Not to mention all those unneeded adjectives._

Morgan looked up from her notes. "Really? I didn't think it was hard to follow at all!"

Hubba beamed. "You an' me, girlie, I think we'll get along just fine!"

Morgan glowed.

Chrom waved it away. "Okay, so we've got all that. Any last things to add?"

"Yes!" Old Hubba grew serious. "I know there's only eight of 'em, but don't let yer guard down! These guys're a lot tougher than the ones sent after me earlier. You've got a real fight ahead of ya." He smiled. "But I've got a little present for ya. I'm gonna lend ya those Einherjar ya helped me get back—Shanna, Lex and the like? They'll be a boon, I guarantee it!"

"I appreciate it," Chrom said, though the dullness of his tone didn't exactly make him seem sincere.

"One more thing!" Hubba reached into his pocket and produced an Einherjar card.

Chrom accepted the gift. "…'Prince Marth?' Why are you giving me this?"

He glanced aside at Old Hubba's guardian. Marth's eyes were cast downward.

"Consider it a thank-you," Old Hubba said with a grin. "I'm gonna let you keep this one, as a gift."

"Really? I thought the objective of this war was to return all of the Einherjar to you."

Old Hubba winked. "Trust me when I say… I think you're no Algol. You'll be just fine havin' some Einherjar in hand."

Chrom slowly broke into a smile, looking down at the card. For the first time, a measure of respect began to grow in him for the old man.

"Thank you," said Chrom, gripping the card. "I'll use him well." He turned to Marth and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to have you on board, Your Highness."

Marth smiled, shaking Chrom's hand. "Likewise, Sir Chrom."

* * *

"Hold for a moment, Laurent."

Lucina's hand restrained Laurent's arm as most of the other Shepherds filed out of the conference room.

"What is the matter, Princess?"

Lucina released him and waited patiently for the last of the Shepherds to exit the room before speaking. "Laurent. Do you mean what you said earlier?"

"About Robin?"

"Yes." Lucina's eyes were serious. "Do you truly doubt Anna?"

"I wish I did not," said Laurent, adjusting his glasses. "But past circumstances have shaken my faith."

Lucina pursed her lips sternly. "…Laurent. You _cannot_ say things like that again."

Laurent blinked. "Pardon?"

"Did you see Cynthia's reaction to your words?" Lucina asked.

"I did. She shouted at me. She will likely have some choice words to share with me later, as well."

"Okay," Lucina replied. "But did you see Morgan's?"

Laurent hesitated. "I…"

"Did you see Nah's? Aunt Emmeryn's? Anna's? _Anyone's?"_ Lucina continued. "Laurent, what you said was unbelievably callous. You suggested that our entire journey could be for nothing."

Laurent's eyes narrowed. "I am on your side, Lucina—I believe we needed to become involved in this Einherjar War. The words I said _needed_ to be said."

"They did _not,"_ Lucina insisted. "You will only engender distrust and bad feelings through such words. Let us hope."

"I have forbidden no one from hoping," Laurent rejoindered. "I am merely promoting a realistic outlook. Imagine if I am right, and no one has prepared for that outcome? Hopes fall faster without healthy, loadbearing cynicism."

Lucina shook her head. "Laurent, you are infuriating! You realize that you could have made an enemy out of Robin's family after what you said?" She glared at him, growing angrier. "I understand that you think you are the sole objective voice of reason, and that you can say whatever you want, but you are still human, and you are still _one of us!_ You are my friend, and I won't let you alienate yourself."

Laurent's eyes narrowed. "I see. So that's what this is about."

"Yes." Lucina closed her eyes, calming. "Now… with that out of the way, let us join the others."

"Lead the way, milady."

* * *

Old Hubba apparently wasn't finished, and continued chasing Chrom with explanations up until reaching the mansion's Outrealm Gate.

"So I always thought that ya had ta _kill_ the Einherjar to get control back," he said giddily, "which was a real mess, 'cause they'd always lose their memories afterwards an' whatnot. But hey, thanks to you guys and yer routing of Shanna's group, now I know ya only hafta _defeat_ 'em!" He beamed. "So—if at all possible, try not ta kill any of Celica's folks, 'kay? That'd be super handy for intelligence an' stuff. Just—just best them in combat, I guess."

"We'll certainly try. Thanks for the advice." Chrom glanced aside at Marth. "You ready?"

Marth didn't respond. On closer inspection, Chrom noticed that the lord was heavily lost in thought—Chrom could practically see the gears whirring.

"Marth?"

Marth blinked awake. "Oh! Yes, of course."

"What's the matter?"

"I-It's nothing." Marth smiled. "I am ready, yes."

Chrom's eyes narrowed. On a different day, he would pry—but he already had a headache, and he dreaded having to go through that Outrealm Gate again. He had yet to catch a break.

So, he settled for, "Good," and turned back to Old Hubba. "Seems we've arrived at the Outrealm Gate. We'll return soon."

Old Hubba smiled and waved. "Good luck to you folks!"

* * *

Chrom took a deep breath. Most of the accompanying Shepherds—approximately twelve allies—had already passed through the Gate, leaving only him and Lucina in wait.

Lucina and Chrom exchanged nods, and they stepped through the Gate simultaneously.

Chrom braved the bright whirl of colors once again, his senses assailed. He held his breath, feeling a tight pressure on his chest—

And it suddenly released. He staggered forward onto Talys's earth, but, finally, he kept his footing. He reached for Falchion, assuring himself that he hadn't lost it.

Lucina reached out to help Chrom stand. "Are you—?"

"I'm fine," Chrom said, refusing her aid. Though his breathing was slightly labored, he grinned. "See, what did I say? I just had to get used to it."

Lucina didn't seem convinced, but smiled anyway. "I suppose you're right."

"Hey, Captain?" Morgan called from ahead. "We should get moving, don'tcha think?"

"Right."

* * *

Much of the island was still deserted, just like last time. After thoroughly searching the eastern half, the Shepherds continued west, and met no opposition most of the way. It wasn't long before they deduced that the eight Einherjar were all holed up in the castle on the west side of the island.

Nearing the castle, Chrom could make out a red figure standing before the entrance. The gates stood wide open, and as the Shepherds approached, more Einherjar began to file out behind their red-haired leader.

Chrom stopped a fair distance away from the newcomers—out of range of the leader's magic, but not out of earshot.

"Are you Lady Celica?" Chrom called.

"I am," the red-haired leader replied. "And what of you? Are you among the brigands terrorizing this island?"

Chrom frowned. "Brigands?"

"Tell me!" Celica shouted emotionally. "What have you monsters done with Shanna? What did you do to my friends?!"

"We are not brigands!" Lucina shouted back. "And we have not harmed your friends! Please, allow us to explain!"

"Not one step closer!" Celica cried. "I will not be deceived! You serve the evil old man!"

"Wha— _Evil?_ Why, that's just crude."

Old Hubba's jovial voice startled Chrom—the old man now suddenly stood right next to him.

"Hubba?!" Chrom stammered. "How did you get here?"

The old man winked. "Trade secrets, my boy."

"W-Well then, _why_ did you follow us?" Chrom pressed.

"Oh! It was one last thing I forgot to mention." He gestured at Celica with his cane. "These Einherjar, they can't be reasoned with. Crazy automatons."

Marth's eyes narrowed.

"Wait!" Lucina interjected. "Why not just prove that Shanna is alive? She and the others are with us!"

Old Hubba sighed. "You'd be wasting your time, girlie."

Shanna hurried to the front, to stand next to Lucina. "C-Celica!" she called, beaming from ear to ear. She waved enthusiastically. "Hi!"

Celica visibly recoiled. "Wh—Shanna! You're all right! I—I can't believe it!"

Fir stepped forward. "These people aren't brigands, Celica!" she shouted. "They are good people!"

"R-Really?" Celica turned to her allies for support, but they seemed just as surprised as her.

Chrom turned to Old Hubba. "You were saying?"

"Bah!" Old Hubba waved it away. "It's always like this, but then they eventually see through the ruse! They're all, 'yer just stagin' stuff,' and whatever." He gestured at Celica. "Celica was never the brightest bulb in the bunch, anyway. Ya could say _anything_ an' she'd believe it!"

Celica slowly began to fume at Old Hubba's words. "You—You—You take me for a fool?! I'll have none of it! I will _not_ fall for your traps again, old man!" She nodded at her compatriots. "We will crush you and avenge our fallen friends—not these fabrications you've created to insult them!"

Old Hubba turned to Chrom and shrugged. "Told ya."

Chrom's mouth hung open at the complete, sudden turnaround of events. "I—I don't even know where to begin on what's wrong with just happened… But there's no time for that!" He turned to face Celica. "Looks like a fight's unavoidable—let's give it all we've got!"

* * *

Mia's sword was a belt.

Nah flinched, nearly reverting out of dragon form at the sudden, imbedded fear that sprang from the deepest part of her mind—but she recovered in time, and she twisted to the side. The myrmidon's weapon scraped across her scales, the glancing blow doing no damage versus the protection of the Dragonstone+.

Nah flapped her wings, putting a few paces between her and Mia. She deafened herself with her harsh breaths, as she caught up from the fright that that vision had put into her.

 _What was THAT about?_ Nah thought, becoming more irritated with herself with each passing moment. _Why did I think of that just then…?_

Nah lunged forward, intending to snap up Mia's blade in her jaws, but Mia sidestepped.

Mia wore a wide grin the whole time. She swiped her blade upwards; Nah parried the attack with her claws.

"Man, I'm impressed!" said Mia cheerfully. "I've never seen a dragon laguz that looks like you."

Nah saw an opening in Mia's guard, and divine flames began to pour from her mouth—but she realized she had to take the myrmidon alive, and the flow ceased.

 _Shouldn't be too much of a problem,_ Nah thought. _I've got this._

* * *

Lucina eyed the archer behind her opponent.

Nephenee had a strong, cautious mindset, in stark contrast to Lucina's previous Einherjar adversary; Nephenee always chose a defensive option when fighting, not allowing Lucina to get any hits in, but also not getting any hits in, herself. A war of attrition.

 _It's like sparring with Kjelle,_ Lucina thought grimly, as Nephenee's lance shrugged off another of Lucina's attacks. _…But with a lot less swearing._

Nephenee took a step back, warily following Lucina's moves—and she gracelessly stumbled on a rock, losing her footing.

"M-Moldy onions!" Nephenee exclaimed, as she tried to regain her balance.

 _Well, scratch 'swearing' off the checklist, I guess,_ Lucina thought, and pressed her advantage.

The archer Lucina had noticed a moment before nocked an arrow, taking aim at Lucina. Lucina pushed forward, tackling Nephenee to the ground and giving the archer an unclear shot.

"I've got her!" came a voice from behind; suddenly, Marth was next to her, dashing past to deal with the archer.

Rebecca struggled to line up a shot on Marth, but Marth deftly kept out of her sights as he approached.

Marth drew his rapier, and in a blindingly swift motion, sliced Rebecca's bow in two. A kick in the gut, and the archer was out of commission.

Lucina's Falchion and Nephenee's lance struggled against one another, but Lucina was on top, and therefore had the advantage. Lucina grunted, shoving the lance aside, and pummeled Nephenee once across the cheek.

Panting, Lucina slowly stood. She kicked Nephenee's lance away, while the halberdier lay on the ground clutching her face.

"You must keep situationally aware," Lucina advised. "You lost because, in spite of all your defenses, you didn't watch your footing."

Nephenee eyed her skeptically. "…What're you, a teacher or somethin'?"

Lucina chuckled. "You are beaten, Nephenee. Just stay down until the battle is over—I promise, none of you will be hurt." She turned away.

Lucina looked around—most of the combat was still ongoing. _Two Einherjar down: six left._

* * *

Robin's dagger shoved forward, his malefic smirk—

Nah blinked, not shaking the vision off in time to dodge Mia's attack. The sword clashed against Nah's claws; she groaned in pain.

"Hey, Mia! Over here!"

Mia's eyes flicked to the side. Nah sprung at the opportunity, and soon had her massive talons pinning the swordmaster to the ground.

Nah could still feel the fire burning in her breast. Taking a deep breath, she could smell Mia's fear.

She bared her teeth hungrily. A dribble of divine magic fell from Nah's maw, singing Mia's shoulder and causing her to wince.

"Oi!" A hand patted her on the side, and she flinched, turning her jaws toward the newcomer.

Morgan wore a slightly confused half-smile. "Got 'em," she said. "You're welcome for the assist, by the way!"

Nah blinked irritably when Morgan patted her snout like a horse. "Stop that," Nah mumbled, slowly coming to her senses.

Nah reverted to human form.

Morgan tilted her head. "You all right? You kinda didn't seem okay for a second there."

"I-I'm fine." Morgan and Nah glanced down at the confused Mia.

"Uh," Mia said, "what's going on? I thought you'd kill me."

"Nah," said Morgan, accidentally catching Nah's attention. "You'll be fine."

Mia beamed, sitting up. "Nice! I get yet another day to search for my white-clad rival." She gestured at Nah. "Who knows, maybe it's you?"

Nah looked down at herself. "I mean, my outfit's mostly red… the white's just complementing it…" She shook her head, irritated. "Why am I talking fashion with you?"

Mia shrugged.

"Listen," Morgan said, grinning at Nah, "once this battle's over, let's explore the mansion! I bet there's tons of cool things to find."

"Morgan, we aren't children. And there's still a fight going on."

Morgan waved it away. "Fine, I'll explore it myself, then."

Nah watched Morgan leave.

She trembled, clutching at her heart, as she tried to catch her breath.

 _Robin smirked devilishly._

* * *

Frederick finally succeeded in removing Marcus from his horse. Sweat lined his brow as he aimed his silver lance at the grounded paladin.

"Don't move," Frederick commanded, "and your life will be spared."

Marcus grimaced. "…I'm sorry, Lord Eliwood, but I must accept defeat," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I will redeem myself, I swear it."

Frederick glanced at the other three horses dancing across the fields. Stahl and Sully teamed up on the red-haired paladin—and Titania was holding her own, deflecting each attack to the best of her ability.

However, Frederick saw the perfect coordination between Stahl and Sully's attacks: Titania was constantly on defensive and retreating. It was only a matter of time before her guard fell.

The crack of an explosion distracted Frederick.

A short distance away, Maribelle weathered the explosive magical attack in place of Chrom, grimacing at the powerful magic of Ragnarok. Celica stood opposite of Maribelle and Chrom, accompanied by her two mages, Boey and Mae.

Frederick gripped his lance, scowling. He wanted to charge into the fray, but he would be more hindrance than help—he hated to admit it, but his magical resistance was subpar.

As was Chrom's—and Maribelle couldn't carry him in this fight on her own.

He glanced over his shoulder at his ward standing behind him. "Milady," he said. "Your help is needed. Take the lead."

Emmeryn blinked up at him. "Wh-What?"

Frederick nodded at Chrom and Maribelle. "Milord requires assistance, and I cannot provide it."

Emmeryn followed his gaze. "Y-You're right, but… But I can't fight that well."

She clutched her staff tightly—she could feel her Arcfire tome sitting, unused, beneath her robes.

Resolve grew in her. "…But they need me. I'll do what I can…!"

Frederick smiled as he watched Emmeryn chase after her brother.

…

* * *

…

"I-I've liked you for a really long time."

Nah wiggled her toes uncomfortably, unable to meet his eye. She kept shooting furtive glances at the door nearby—a part of her wanted to escape this conversation and just hide in her room. _So embarrassing…_

"Why?"

His response left her speechless for a moment. "What?"

"Why?" Robin repeated, crossing his arms and giving her a curious grin. "What's so special about me?"

"Well…" Nah stared at her feet. "Th-This is… um… embarrassing. And not the 'endearingly cute' kind of embarrassing, either… This is the 'you'll-get-bullied' type of embarrassing."

Robin tilted his head, smirking. "C'mon, Nah. I wanna hear it."

Nah breathed in slowly. "Y-Y'know how I'm from the future? …Back in the war, I… didn't have any friends."

"None? What about the other time-travelers?" Robin continued to smirk. For a moment, a purple glow seemed to hide behind his eyes; Nah was briefly enraptured by the light, but she shook her head to clear it. _I must be imagining things._

She resisted the urge to scratch her stomach. It itched, inexplicably. "No… I'm the only Manakete, so that alone distanced me from everyone… and I couldn't really get along with all their dysfunctions."

Nah's eyebrows furrowed as she took another breath. The air felt thinner, harder to breathe.

"A-After traveling back in time," she continued, "even my parents were total strangers compared to how I knew them—"

 **"LIAR."**

Nah couldn't breathe. She lay on her bed, struggling against the iron grip Robin maintained against her throat.

"Stop lying to me," Robin hissed. "You never knew your parents. They died before you ever met them… Why would you lie to me, Nah? Why?"

Nah gurgled, unable to choke out a word. Robin rumbled with malefic laughter.

"Yes, the orphanage," cooed Robin. "I know all about that, darling. I am your father, aren't I? I remember the stories the other you told me. Your foster parents, who didn't exactly fall head-over-heels in love with their semihuman-mongrel child… Heh, your words, not mine."

Tears ran from Nah's eyes. She choked on no air, and Robin wouldn't allow her the release of unconsciousness.

"That belt really was your worst nightmare," Robin mused. "…Though, I suppose I've usurped that mantle, now."

She sat across from Robin at a secluded table in the empty cafeteria. Robin's hand rested on his dagger— _"Smile, Nah."_

"This isn't real," Nah whispered. "This isn't real…"

"Don't you remember, Nah? I died." Grima tilted his head, smirking intensely. "Does that make you sad? The only Robin who would actually agree to reciprocate your feelings is gone now."

Robin leaned across the table, staring into her eyes. His eyes bore the Mark of the Fell Dragon in lieu of pupils. "You really loved him, huh? …Hah. You're lucky everyone else is just glossing over that fact. 'Oh, she's the victim, she was manipulated!' But you _did_ love him, for real, and everyone knows it. Morgan and Cynthia both do. Heh! You know, they probably hate you for it! You really should've let that secret lie. Because really, what future do you have, now, that doesn't repeat your past? Your past of solitude—of no friends, no family? You can't stay with Morgan. You can never be with Robin. And your parents… Well, they don't have a good track record of staying with you, now do they?"

"G-Get out! _GET OUT!"_ Nah shrieked. _"Get out of my—!"_

Her cry was cut short, and now she was returned to her room, on her back, mind-numbing pain spreading throughout her body. She struggled to lift her head—the effort was agony, and she thought she couldn't do it. Her pain-blurred vision could make out a dagger protruding from her abdomen, before she fell back.

Robin stood, leaving the dagger behind in her stomach. Nah's consciousness began to slip away from her; the image of Robin's dark smirk was left burned into her mind.

* * *

Nah jolted awake. She found herself drenched in sweat, lying in the fetal position under the shade of a tree. She looked around, the horror of the vision still causing her to tremble; she slowly deduced that she was back on Talys, and she sat up, taking quick breaths to calm herself. That fight was likely still going on—she had to get back out there.

"Nah!"

Nah turned toward the concerned voice. "A-Ah… Father," she said, striving for calmness as best she could.

Libra crouched next to her. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Nah hesitated. "Um… I-It's nothing."

"You fainted," said Libra sternly. "I carried you away from the battle to recuperate here. Do you expect me to believe that it had no cause?"

Nah shrugged, not meeting her father's eye. "…I guess I'm dehydrated. I forgot my canteen." She stood. The dream already felt like an eternity ago, and she felt immensely foolish for fainting in the middle of a battlefield. _Please tell me no one else saw that._ "Do you have any water?"

Libra pursed his lips, disbelieving, but handed her his canteen nonetheless.

Nah took deep gulps of the water. _I feel like I'm lying to him… but I'm not, really. It was just a dream._

She shuddered, thinking of Grima's inhuman eyes. _…A vivid one, but…_

Nah replaced the cap on the canteen and returned it to her father. "Thank you."

"Of course." Libra sighed. "Nah… I am your father, you know. You may always come to me if anything troubles you."

"I appreciate it, but really, I'm fine," Nah said firmly.

"You were having a nightmare. You spoke in your sleep."

Nah shook her head. "I-I don't remember it," she lied. "I'm sure it was nothing."

"They say that dreams are messages sent from Naga," Libra continued. "Especially the particularly vivid visions. Whatever you dreamt of may be born of a concern you face when awake."

"I already told you I don't remember!" Nah snapped. She put more venom in her words than she intended, however, and Libra seemed hurt.

Libra composed himself. "…Very well," he said quietly. "I'll let you be on your way. I wouldn't recommend rejoining the battle, however, out of concern of your health."

Nah folded her arms. She had already crossed the line of impudence, so she may as well not back down. "They need me," she said sternly. "You can stick around if you want, Father."

Nah marched back toward the battlefield.

Libra sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And here I thought she was mild-mannered," he murmured to himself. "I suppose we all must put up with a Severa every now and then."

* * *

 _"Now!"_

Maribelle and Emmeryn blasted streams of Arcfire into the group of Einherjar mages, splitting the three up via the walls of flame. Chrom charged forward, now only needing to worry about one target.

Celica squinted, lining up her Ragnarok tome on the lord. It was an easy shot—though the walls of Arcfire separated her from Boey and Mae, it also gave Chrom no avenues to dodge. She cast the spell, and a rain of fire exploded around Chrom.

But when the smoke cleared, he was no longer there.

A sharp pain registered in the back of Celica's skull, and she fell forward, spots flashing behind her eyes. Celica hazily looked around—the Arcfire had stopped.

Frederick held young Boey up by the collar, and Lucina and Marth restrained Mae's arms. Morgan stood over Celica, gripping her sword as she ecstatically jumped up and down.

"That—was—FLAWLESS!" Morgan exclaimed giddily. "Awesome job, team!" She elicited a reluctant high-five from Frederick.

Celica grasped the dirt, frustrated. "We're—defeated? Already…? We couldn't even touch you…"

"Get a better tactician!" Morgan boasted. "When you've got someone of MY caliber, THEN we can—"

"That's enough, Morgan," Chrom chuckled. "Humility in victory."

"It's kinda hard to be humble right about now," Morgan bubbled. "I mean, did you _see_ how we finished it? Maribelle and Emmeryn split 'em up with Arcfire, so Frederick takes out the dude mage and Lucina takes out the chick mage while Celica can't see—and then Chrom charges down the middle, distracting her from _me,_ and he gets Rescue staff'd in the nick of time, while I finish the job! Flawless execution, everybody! Give yourselves a hand!" She took a bow. "And best of all—no one died! Hee hee—I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm on a high right now!"

Celica closed her eyes. "I-I'm sorry, Alm. I failed you."

"Oh, don't be like that!" Morgan offered Celica her hand, beaming.

Celica skeptically watched Morgan for a moment, but slowly accepted, standing.

"See!" Morgan brushed off Celica's shoulders. "We good?"

Celica looked around numbly. She could see her seven allies among Chrom's forces, alive—and Shanna's party was here, too.

Celica turned back to Morgan. A smile slowly grew on her face. "Y-Yes… we are. I must say, I'm curious as to how I was this strongly misled about your group…" Her face fell. "Was I fighting for the wrong side all along?!"

Chrom nodded. "That's right. The man you work for, Algol, is the true villain. He's manipulated you, and many other Einherjar, into serving his whim."

Celica blinked. "…Einherjar?"

Chrom blinked as well. "Ah, I suppose I'll have to explain that later, too."

"W-Well, in any case…" Celica brightened, offering her hand to Chrom. "I apologize deeply for opposing you like I did. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me—and I would much appreciate it if you allowed me to help you in any conflict to come."

Chrom shook Celica's hand. "I would appreciate that as well."

"I would like to start right now," said Celica. "Lord—Chrom, was your name?" She turned and pointed at Castle Talys. "Algol is in that castle right now. He issued us our orders from in there."

Chrom froze. "S-Seriously? Already?"

"Be warned," said Celica, "he is a powerful man. He commands powerful dark magic, though he does not use it in battle—he instead wields arcane, malevolent axes that are certainly not of this earth." She shook her head. "…To be honest, I am starting to wonder why I never doubted him before…"

"Axes, huh?" Chrom examined Falchion. "I think I'll be all right." He looked around. "Where's Old Hubba?"

"He left," Marth replied. "He mentioned having business to attend to in another Outrealm."

"Well, we'll go it alone, then." Chrom nodded at Morgan. "Ready?"

Morgan nodded. "You've got it! Let's get the ball rollin'."

The group started to walk towards the castle.

* * *

Fir grew more and more uncomfortable as she walked. Try as she might, she could not shake the gaze of her pursuer.

 _Wait, why am I avoiding him?_ Fir thought, irritated. _A real warrior stands up to conflict!_

She whirled around, glaring at her stalker. "What do you _want?"_ she growled.

Yen'fay's expression was thoroughly impassive. "Pardon, milady. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

Fir huffed. "Then, don't follow me like that! And stop staring."

Yen'fay sighed. "I apologize. I _was_ staring, but it was simply because I cannot shake the feeling that we have met before."

"Met before…?" She tilted her head. "Are you an Einherjar like me? Or did you fight under Lord Roy?"

"I am not, and I did not," said Yen'fay. "So it seems I am mistaken. Forgive my intrusion."

Fir watched Yen'fay go. "…Geez, what a weird guy."

* * *

Marth caught up to Chrom. He smiled as he walked next to the Exalt.

"How's it going, Marth?" Chrom asked.

"I am quite well," Marth replied pleasantly. "My compliments to your tactician—this was a remarkably well-executed battle. 'No casualties on either side' is a daunting objective, yet she accomplished it with no issue."

"Yeah, Morgan's pretty great," Chrom agreed. "She's her father's daughter. Even he only ever accomplished the same thing in one other battle, while Morgan's already got two." Chrom thought of the battle with Priam—the memory was among the more nostalgic ones of the last war. _To be fair to Robin, he had FIFTY enemies to worry about then._

"Her father?" Marth questioned. "Is this the man your group is searching for?"

"Yes. His name's Robin, and, well… as much as I'd love to explain everything, it's a ridiculously long story."

"I understand." Marth stared at the ground as he walked. "Such a talented tactician… I could have used one during my own war."

"You didn't have a tactician?" Chrom asked, surprised.

Marth looked at Chrom. "I suppose I had Malledus, but he was not so much a tactician as an advisor. More, 'what should we do,' rather than 'how should we do it,' if you catch my meaning."

"Sure do, but… for both of your famous wars, you truly had no central tactician?"

Marth blinked. "…Both?"

Chrom frowned. "Yes… the War of Shadows and the War of Heroes. You spearheaded them… both…"

He gathered from Marth's expression that this was news to the lord of Altea.

Chrom's jaw set. "…You said your title was Prince, not King. Tell me, Marth—how much do you remember of your life?"

"I…" Marth sighed. "I remember fighting a war. Dolhr, Macedon, Grust, and Gra were our primary opponents, and we had defeated the latter three. Our sights were set on Dolhr—we had even breached the castle, with the intention of storming the Shadow Dragon's final bastion. But…" He grimaced. "From here, the details get hazy… as if trying to recall a dream. The next thing I know, I am in the mansion of Old Hubba, as though I've always been there. Try as I might to remember how I got there, or why, the details elude me." He sighed. "I know, of course, that I was created from my card, and that all of my prior memories are fabricated, but… the reality is hard for me to swallow."

"I see…" Chrom rubbed his chin. "So you only recall the War of Shadows, and not even through to its conclusion. That's good to know, I guess."

"I would be interested to hear the tales of Marth's future," said Marth. "Though I hesitate to imagine fighting a second war… the first one was horrific enough. At least I am happy to hear we claimed victory in the end." He shook his head, smiling. "But let's not worry ourselves too much, yet." He gestured at the weapon on Chrom's hip. "Your swordsmanship is unfamiliar to me. It's strangely elegant, yet brutish—that is, you carry much weight behind each attack, but you place each strike precisely and deliberately. It was a wonder to watch you."

"Thank you," said Chrom. "Sorry, but I didn't get to see much of your style… I was preoccupied."

"I would like to test your arm someday," Marth noted. "I'm certain I could learn much."

"Heh! I look forward to it." Chrom slowed as he approached the castle's entrance—Morgan waited for him just outside.

"You ready?" Morgan asked. Her bubbliness had mostly given way to nerves.

"Yeah." Chrom grinned at Marth. "Let's end this."

Marth nodded, smiling; but as he watched Chrom go ahead, the smile withered.

It was unmistakable. The hilt had changed, yes, but the blade was identical—and the weapon still called to him, the same way it had before. It yearned for his grasp.

Falchion…

* * *

Chrom's eyes narrowed. At the sight before him, he held out an arm, halting Morgan and the others following behind.

A brute of a man sat alone, slouched on Talys's throne; his muscled elbow rested on the arm of the throne, fist supporting his head. His eyes were wide, with small, gray pupils analyzing the approaching Shepherds. His cruel smirk widened at the sight of Chrom's little army.

"Algol, I presume," Chrom called across the chamber.

"You got it." Algol's voice was raspy, deep. "You must be these Inrealmers I've heard so much about."

Morgan's lips parted slightly, and she tilted her head, analyzing the Grimleal. "Same guy…" she murmured.

"Let's make this simple, Algol," Chrom stated, crossing his arms. "You return the Einherjar to Old Hubba, and we promise you a comfortable prison."

"Prison?!" Algol barked, laughing. "What prison'll hold me, princey? I'm not of your world, and I ain't of the Outrealms either. Nah, I'd expect nothin' but the end of a sword from you."

"It doesn't have to be that way," said Chrom. "Banditry might be fun and all, but there are better ways to live life. You can come peacefully."

A dark glint alit in Algol's eye. "Banditry… Oh, princey, you don't know the half of it. My brigand days're over, an' for that matter, so's my time as a Grimleal. I've…" He chuckled. "…I've moved on to bigger an' better things. Heheheh."

"So be it," Chrom sighed, and he drew Falchion.

"Heh!" Algol dismissed him with a hand wave. "Maybe some other time, princey. I ain't here for a fight just yet. I'm actually here for a… proposition, you could say."

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "What kind of proposition?"

"Not for _you,"_ Algol spat. "For the _other_ sword-totin' noble among y'all." He jabbed a finger into the audience, singling out one member: "Marth!"

Marth blinked. Slowly, he stepped forward to stand even with Chrom. "…What do you want from me?"

"I'm gonna make this pure an' simple for ya, Einherjar," Algol sneered. "Yer gonna turn yerself in to me. Switch sides."

"What?!" Lucina exclaimed. "He shall do no such thing!"

Algol's lip curled up into a dark grin. "Oh really? Well, I've got a couple of incentives for 'im, if he wants."

"I'll not be bribed," Marth growled. "My allegiance is not cheaply bought."

"Don't worry, I've got yer price." Algol rumbled with smug laughter.

Algol reached into a pouch on his hip. Within a moment, his hand returned; in his grip was a card, unmistakably that of an Einherjar.

Marth hesitated, watching the card carefully. "Wh… What is that?"

"An old friend," Algol chuckled. "A lass yer probably familiar with, 'O Great Hero-King.' All that's left of 'er in this day an' age, since she's as dead as you in the real world."

Algol's sneer intensified; his eyes widened insanely. He waved the card arrogantly, and proclaimed, "The great Pegasus Knight, the heart of Talys: _Caeda."_

Marth's breath caught. "Caeda…"

Chrom glanced aside at Marth, watching the frozen prince try to come to terms with the revelation. Chrom was familiar with the name of Caeda, the queen of yore; he tried to grab a reference frame for the thoughts running through Marth's head right then.

 _If that was Maribelle…_ Chrom thought grimly, returning his gaze to Algol.

Algol suddenly gripped the card with both hands, making as if to tear it.

Marth stepped forward, lifting a futile hand: _"Stop!"_

Algol paused, raising an eyebrow at Marth. "Well then. You _do_ care. I'd suggest you turn yourself over, huh?" He smirked. "You'll even get a neat little present when ya get here, an' I'm not talkin' about Caeda."

"W-Wait! Just wait," Marth said, his breathing quick. "I-I'll consider it…"

"Marth!" Lucina said, her eyes wide.

"You've got a day," said Algol. "Head a couple miles north o' Hubba's mansion, over in his Outrealm. I'll be in the arena 'round that area, waitin' for yer answer. An' if ya don't show…" He twisted Caeda's card, nearly to the breaking point. He took great satisfaction from Marth's stiff tension as he watched Algol's hands.

Finally, Algol relaxed his grip on the card, allowing Marth to breathe. He stood from his throne. "Well, on that note, I'll be off."

"No you don't," Chrom said, raising Falchion. "You won't leave here so easily, Algol."

"Really?" Algol said. "Huh. Well, you've got me there." He shrugged.

Suddenly, Algol shone with a bright flash of light, and was gone.

"Wh—Dammit!" Chrom looked around, clenching his teeth with frustration. "What was that? A Rescue staff?"

"Didn't look like it," Morgan said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

"That's 'cause it wasn't," said an old voice from behind them. The Shepherds and company turned to face Old Hubba as he slowly hobbled into the throne room, supported by a walking staff. "That was some o' my stuff—stole it from me, he did. Warp Powder. It's a Tellius thing." He sighed. "He could be anywhere by now."

"Warp _powder?"_ Morgan asked incredulously. "He warped _himself?_ That's—That's so unfair!"

Old Hubba chuckled. He didn't want to ruin poor Morgan's day by bringing up Rewarp staves. "Ahem! Anyway, we should prolly head back to the mansion. Ain't no good to pursue the guy—he's a slippery sort."

Marth was still silent.

"Marth…" Lucina murmured. She bit her lip, agonized at her inability to find comforting words.

Marth looked at her, then over at Chrom, before settling on Old Hubba.

Marth glared at the old man, and he silently stormed out of the castle, bumping Old Hubba's shoulder roughly as he passed.

Hubba rubbed his smarting arm, watching the young prince go. "Guess I upset him somehow," he chuckled.

Lucina glared at Hubba as well, her temper slowly rising. "Probably by losing all the cards in the first place," she growled. "Your carelessness put him in this situation, old man."

Old Hubba scratched his bald head sheepishly. "Hrm. You may be right, young lady."

Lucina grit her teeth, his casual tone grating on her nerves.

Chrom restrained Lucina's arm. "Let's not get too worked up just yet," he said. "We need to make a plan, and fast. We've got a day to figure this out." He nodded at Hubba. "Let's return to the mansion."

Hubba nodded, grinning. "I'll lead the way."

The coalition of Shepherds and Einherjar slowly left Castle Talys, leaving behind a lost in thought Morgan.

She chewed her thumbnail, and slowly started to follow the others. "Warp Powder…" she murmured. "…I need to get me some of that."

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 4 – **Three Falchions**_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _Hoo boy, Old Hubba's dialogue lights up like Christmas in my spellchecker._


	4. Three Falchions

Chapter 4: **Three Falchions**

* * *

"Lord Chrom, I fear that there is no other option." Marth didn't meet Chrom's eye as they walked.

Chrom ran a hand through his hair, eyeing the encroaching Outrealm Gate in the distance; he had a number of things to dread at this moment, and it worried him that the Gate wasn't even close to the top of the list.

"Lord Chrom…" Marth repeated. "It may be necessary for me to turn myself over."

"No," Chrom said quickly, looking at Marth. "That is the worst thing you could do. Handing yourself over to the enemy is _never_ the best idea." He frowned. _It didn't work for Emm, and it wouldn't work for you._

Lucina shook her head. "We'll figure something out, Prince Marth, I promise. We'll save Caeda somehow."

"I trust that you will try, milady," Marth said grimly. "I… er, thank you. Thank you for… for helping me."

Lucina smiled. "Of course. I feel that I…"

"In we go!" Old Hubba interrupted, and he walked into the Outrealm Gate. The rest of the party slowly followed him.

Chrom watched the Gate, sighing. "In we go," he echoed sullenly, and entered the Gate.

Lucina made to follow him, but Marth stepped in front of her, facing her with a serious expression. "Lady Lucina."

Lucina frowned curiously. "What is it, Your Highness?"

"I—er, I am certain you know much more about Caeda than I would expect a stranger to," he began slowly. "You being… from my future, and all. So, I just wanted to emphasize how… how… important, she is to me." He struggled to articulate. "I have not seen her in a very long time… Even when she—her card—was in Old Hubba's possession, I—I had—er—very little time to spend with her." He winced. "And, in life… I have many regrets, many things I wished I did, back in my era… and her… with her, um…" He shook his head quickly. "I-I am sorry for my lack of eloquence, milady. I simply—I wish to impress upon you what saving her means to me."

"I understand," said Lucina firmly. "I was not lying when I said that I _promise._ We will save her. We will." She smiled. "The Shepherds have accomplished much more harrowing feats in the past. Please, ease your worries."

Marth closed his eyes, taking a long breath through his nose and releasing it through his mouth. Then, his eyes opened. "Your words do me much good, Lady Lucina. Thank you."

He turned around, his cape swishing as he entered the Outrealm Gate.

Lucina frowned. "Him and Caeda… Would it be better if I told him how it ends?"

She shook her head. "When we rescue her, they can talk it over then. I needn't spoil things."

She followed the others into the Outrealm Gate.

* * *

Nah glanced over her shoulder, noticing Morgan. "Ah, you caught up."

"Yup." Morgan gestured at the Gate sitting ahead. "Ready?"

Nah smiled nervously. "U-Um, you go on ahead. I, ah, dropped my Dragonstone around here somewhere."

"What? And here I thought you waited up for me out of the goodness of your heart." Morgan winked at Nah, teasing. "Welp, let's get to looking." She scanned the ground.

"Uh, that's okay, I-I'll look for it myself."

"No way, dude! I'm not leaving you here in Nowhere Island on your own. C'mon, let's look."

"No, really, it's okay," Nah insisted. "Go on ahead."

Morgan eyed Nah skeptically. "…Okay… I'll wait for you on the other side, then."

"I'll be awhile," Nah continued. "Don't wait up, okay?"

Morgan huffed impatiently. "What's the deal, Nah? I thought we were friends!"

Nah winced. "W-We are, Morgan. We are. But I can do this on my own."

"Then stop doing—whatever this is, wouldja? Let me help."

"No!" Nah snapped, startling Morgan. "I-I'm _fine,_ Morgan! Could you not be so damn stubborn for five minutes?!"

"And now you're mad!" Morgan replied, not missing a beat. "Why're you mad at me? Is this about the fake Dad again?"

Morgan snickered. _If I call him "Dad," it's kinda true for both of us._ She felt bad for finding that hilarious.

"It's not about Robin," said Nah, irritated. "…And I'm not mad. Just go, okay?"

Morgan sighed. The sigh went on about five seconds too long—classic Morgan hyperbole. "Fiiiiine," she moaned, and trudged toward the Outrealm Gate.

Nah crossed her arms, watching Morgan go. Morgan lingered by the Gate, slowly dipping a toe into the door, then glancing over at Nah, then stepping in further, then—

Nah rolled her eyes, refusing to humor Morgan. _I'm not going to call her back._

Morgan sighed again, finally resigning, and returned to Old Hubba's Outrealm.

* * *

Say'ri's teeth were clenched in the hardest grimace she had held since the Valmese War. "Milady, I must tell Lord Chrom. _Now."_

Tiki sat up in her bed quickly—much more quickly than someone in her condition should—and said sharply, "No!"

"But why, Lady Tiki?! Look at you! Your complexion is pale, your motions are weak, and your fever has never been so high. I can keep this secret no longer, milady!"

Tiki's interjection was delayed by a miserable coughing fit. Say'ri's expression sharpened, her point proven.

Her fit over, Tiki resumed the argument. "Say'ri, Lord Chrom mustn't know of my condition. Not yet."

"Why in the nine hells not?!" Say'ri exclaimed. "When you fainted as we first entered the Outrealms, I kept your secret safe. When you fell briefly comatose as we entered this second Outrealm, I kept your secret once more. I cannot do it again. It is a matter of time before someone questions why you have been locked away in your room for so long."

"I'll be… fine," Tiki whispered. Her eyelids fluttered, and she swayed weakly from side to side. Say'ri hurried over and eased her ward onto her back, resting Tiki's head comfortably on the pillow. "I just, ah… need… some sleep, okay?"

Say'ri pursed her lips, watching the half-conscious Manakete slowly drift away. "Fie," Say'ri hissed, cursing herself. "As the Voice commands… but I cannot do this forever."

* * *

Nah blinked, slowly standing. She grasped her head as she came to.

Looking around, she spotted Old Hubba's mansion in the distance, and started to walk.

A clap resounded from behind her. She froze.

More clapping. Slow clapping; sarcastic, definitely sarcastic.

"Way to go," came Morgan's voice, dripping with irony. "Really _stuck_ that landing. The way your face hit the dirt, and then just, just _sat_ there for, like, a minute—really nailed it, Nah."

Nah slowly turned around to face Morgan. "M-Morgan, I told you not to wait for me."

Morgan crossed her arms. "See, I dunno how Manaketes do it, but when humans realize their best friend is acting super weird, they don't exactly obey every order." She gestured at the imprint Nah had made in the dirt.

Nah grimaced. "…Don't tell anyone."

"That you pass out whenever you go through the Outrealm Gate? Sure, sure," Morgan said. The sarcasm had yet to leave her tone. "It's not like Chrom would love to know someone else's having the same problem. And it _definitely_ wouldn't help us figure out what's going on with that." Morgan smirked. "Morgan: one, Nah: zero. You couldn't reflect on any of that while you were looking for your Dragonstone?"

Nah pinched the bridge of her nose. "I lied about that, Morgan. I didn't really lose my Dragonstone."

"Can't win 'em all. Morgan: one, Nah: one."

Nah threw up her hands. "What does it matter? Me and Chrom, we're just oddballs, or something. Something about the Gate doesn't agree with us. It's not a big deal."

"But it could be," said Morgan, raising a finger. "For all we know, this could be a lot worse than it looks! What if y'all are being… like…" Her eyes widened with childlike wonder. "Like, injected with an alien disease or something?!"

"Oh my gods Morgan, that isn't happening." Nah turned away and began walking towards the manse. "I'm going inside."

"Wait, wait!" Morgan rushed over to grab Nah's arm. "I'll be serious. Look at my face, I'm being serious right now." She put up her serious face. "Nah. Are you okay?"

"Wh—Yes, of course I'm okay," Nah scoffed, prying away Morgan's grip.

"You say that, but I don't think you mean it," Morgan said. "You're lying. You're doing that _thing_ you do when you lie."

"What _thing?"_

Morgan gestured vaguely at Nah. "I dunno, that—that _thing!_ It's nothing specific; I can just tell, okay? And—I don't know why you're lying to me…" Morgan sniffed. "Either you're lying to keep me from worrying, or you're lying because… you don't like me, and don't want my help…"

"Morgan, come on," Nah murmured. "Please don't give me waterworks…"

"I-I can't help it!" Morgan sniffed, raising her hands defensively as though to guard the tears rising to her eyes. "I j-just don't know why you hate me now, Nah! What did I do wr-wrong? Are you… are you still mad about l-last week, really? A-About the other Dad? Because I said I'm s-sorry! I apologized for leaving you a-alone all that time…" She clumsily wiped at her tears with the heel of her hand. "N-Nah, I feel h-horrible about it, okay? I feel—I feel like—like I failed you, and that it's m-my fault for everything that happened…"

"It's not your fault!" Nah cried. Tears brewed in her eyes as well. "N-Nothing is your fault, Morgan! You've never done anything wrong in your _life!_ It's _my_ fault everything happened!"

"No it isn't!" Morgan said, pushing Nah's shoulder. "C-Captain already told you back in the infirmary… He s-said it wasn't your fault, okay?"

"Well Chrom was wrong!" Nah shouted, stepping closer. "Honestly, Morgan, I don't _get_ you! Why aren't you mad?! _Why?!_ I loved Robin! I _loved_ him, in _that_ way, and you don't resent me even a little bit?!"

Morgan blinked, surprised. "…Nah, I could never be mad at you for that…"

"Yes you can! Yes you _should!"_ Nah exclaimed. "S-Sure, it wasn't the real Robin, but I _thought_ he was, and I was more than willing to split your family up and take him for myself! It's not _fair,_ Morgan! _Why can't you just hate me?!"_

Morgan's lips parted in shock. She had no reply to that.

Nah panted, angry tears drawing lines down her cheeks as she glared at Morgan. "Y-You're too nice, Morgan… You're allowed to hate people. You're allowed to hate me. You _definitely_ don't have to be my friend anymore. I kinda…" She looked down. "I kinda threw that away."

"We can still be friends," Morgan finally replied, hopeful.

"No we can't," Nah interjected. "What I did will always loom over our heads, y'know. That, even though it didn't happen, I was willing to put myself over your family." She laughed, though humorless. "It's like all the events of last week comprised a sort of cosmic test… and I failed it."

"You were being—"

"I was _not_ being manipulated," said Nah coldly, taking Morgan aback. "My feelings for Robin were real, and my actions were all my own. I really was okay with being with Robin at your expense. So, don't make excuses for me." She wiped her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "…Well, Morgan? Do you hate me yet? Because I sure do. And it would be a _lot_ easier on me if you just went ahead and admitted it."

Morgan wrenched her trembling expression into a heated, determined frown. "…Yes! Yes, Nah, I hate you!"

Nah looked at the ground quietly.

"I hate you for how—for how you always treat me like I'm an annoyance! You think I don't see when you roll your eyes, but I do, every time! And—and how you're always so serious, when I just want to live life a little! And—And—" She wiped her nose, shivering violently. "And how you're never… never…"

Morgan buried her face in her sleeve, crying loudly.

Nah folded her hands silently, still looking down. She could feel her tears drying.

 _This is how it should be,_ she thought numbly. _Robin was right. I've lost Morgan. Who's next?_

"Morgan," she whispered. "I'll…"

"But what I hate you most for!" Morgan interrupted loudly, jabbing an accusatory pointer finger at Nah, "is how you always make me humor your stupid, overly-complicated drama by making up a bunch of reasons I hate you, when _actually,_ I love you a lot, and I want to be your friend more than _anything,_ and if you say no, then you are the worst person in the world!" She gasped for breath. "Nah, you are my best friend, and it'll take a lot more than dating my evil father from another world to split us up!"

"Morgan…!" Nah whispered, the blow of Morgan's words loosening tears from her eyes. Her hands began to tremble, but Morgan solved that problem by taking them in her own.

"Nah! _We—are—friends!_ There is _nothing_ you can say or do to convince me otherwise!" Morgan cried.

"We… We…" Morgan's emotional outburst left Nah without meaningful words.

"Nah, look me in the eye right now, and tell me you love me as much as I love you! I _know_ it's true!" Morgan shook Nah's hands emphatically. _"Tell me!"_

Nah didn't have a reply. She could feel a burning tear tracing a line down to her chin. She tried to move her mouth, but no words came forth.

"N-Nah," Morgan choked agonizingly. "Please…"

Nah cleared her throat of emotion and finally replied. "…Morgan… Where did this all come from? I've never seen you break down like this…"

 _Not even when your father died._

Morgan sniffed. She wanted to wipe her eyes again, but she feared that if she released Nah's hands, she wouldn't be able to hold them ever again.

"I-I'm so… _tired…_ of losing everyone," she whispered. Her shaking voice couldn't go much louder. "Cynthia and Mom don't get along anymore… And I didn't know it, but I accidentally chose Cynthia's side by hanging out with her more, so me and Mom don't speak much either. And that's all _after_ Dad disappeared, and for all we know, La-Laurent is right, and he's dead after all…" She forced an emotional half-smile for Nah. "I'm tired of losing people and s-still smiling about it. 'Cause, that's Morgan, she's the smiling one! …But Nah, it really hurts… it hurts, thinking that I'll never see Dad again, or that Mom and Cynthia will never work things out… I hate it! I _hate_ that feeling! And I don't wanna lose you too, Nah, not if I can stop it."

Far more than a single tear began to run from Nah's eyes, as her stunned face contorted into a crying one. She began to shake with sobs.

She finally understood. She could finally relate.

Nah could lose Libra again. She could lose Nowi again. She could lose Robin again. But she'd be damned if she lost Morgan, the only constant through it all.

 _I don't want to lose her,_ Nah thought. _I don't EVER want to lose her._

Nah squeezed Morgan's hands and summoned up her courage. "Morgan! I do! I _do_ love you! And I _never_ want to let you go, okay? That'll never happen!"

Morgan took a moment of surprise, Nah's words sinking in, before she burst into incoherent tears and pulled Nah in for a tight hug.

"Oof!" Nah grunted, but she reciprocated.

They stood in the clearing, the silent Outrealm Gate looming nearby, caught in the hug for a long time.

Slowly, Morgan pulled away from the embrace, wiping her eyes and smiling. "A-All right, that was pretty cool," she said, sniffing. "I could use a good cry every now and then."

"That… That felt great," Nah sighed. The pressure that had weighed on her chest ever since entering the Outrealms was gone, at least for now.

Morgan beamed. "I'm glad! And I finally convinced you, too. Morgan: two, Nah: one. …Buuut I'll call it a draw."

Nah rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. "Morgan, you're… you're great, you know that? I'm happy that… you're my friend."

"Hey, c'mon now, you're not so bad yourself," said Morgan, winking. "But I think 'sentimental time' is over. We should get back to the mansion."

Nah nodded.

* * *

Old Hubba sat behind the desk in his office, grinning at the other occupants of the small room: Chrom, Lucina, Maribelle, and Marth. The door creaked open, and in stepped Morgan, who subtly wiped her eyes as she moved to sit next to Lucina on the couch.

"Looks we're all here, finally," said Chrom. Morgan flinched, embarrassed at her tardiness.

But Chrom didn't linger on the subject, and faced Hubba. "As I was saying, this rescue mission won't be an easy one. The challenge comes from how we're trying to rescue Caeda while she's in her card: a card that Algol is most likely _always_ carrying on his person. Not to mention that, if he sees us coming, he only needs a matter of seconds to tear the card in half, rendering the mission pointless. This requires the utmost stealth."

"Or," said Hubba, tenting his fingers, "we don't."

A beat passed.

"…We _don't?_ As in, we don't perform the rescue?" Maribelle enquired. "You can't be serious."

"Do y'all know what's happening right now? Mr. Grimleal over there is tryin' ta manipulate us. Thing is, negotiations with madmen _never_ work out. Somehow, if we agree ta his little deal, we end up losing."

"I cannot sacrifice Caeda," said Marth sharply. "I will do what I must to save her."

Old Hubba snorted. "Marth, it's just a _card,"_ he said. "It's just a damn card."

The room missed another beat.

Chrom leaned forward, watching Hubba skeptically. "…Is that all they are to you, Hubba? Is that all that _Marth_ is to you? Just a card?"

Old Hubba sighed. "Chrom, the reality of the situation is, that card yer tryin' to save ain't Caeda, and this one standin' before me ain't Marth." He grimaced. "Sorry, but… it's the truth. Is riskin' yer life for a facsimile of Caeda really worth it?"

"Then what would _you_ have us do?" said Lucina, crossing her arms as though to restrain herself from using them on Hubba. "I thought the objective was to retrieve all of the Einherjar for you. If Marth doesn't show, Algol will destroy the Caeda card."

"And he _will_ do it," Marth added. "He doesn't need her. He has plenty of other Einherjar to fit her role."

"Fine," said Old Hubba. "Don't care. If he destroys the card, then there's nothin' we can do about it, and he won't have her either. Better'n giving him the Marth card too."

Marth seethed, his knuckles white as he drove his nails into his palm. "Old Hubba—"

"That's enough," said Hubba exasperatedly. "If it were up to me, I'd forbid y'all from going, but it's up to you. Rescue Caeda, don't rescue Caeda, I don't care. Just don't lose Marth, an' _please_ don't die."

Old Hubba left the silent room behind.

* * *

Very little was made in the way of productive discussion from then on. Lucina's temper had reached a point where she could not offer useful advice, Morgan was still running on an emotion high from earlier, and Marth, Chrom, and Maribelle were not tacticians. It wasn't long before the meeting was temporarily adjourned, no solution reached.

While the others mostly headed from the office toward their new rooms upstairs, Lucina instead stormed to the foyer. The sun had set, and moonlight filtered through the mansion's lavish, thoroughly waxed windows.

She paced in the darkness, her hands on her hips. "I cannot believe him," she muttered to herself. "The nerve of that old man…"

She watched the front door. She wished to go for a nighttime walk, to cool off, but Chrom had given strict orders to the Shepherds: "Stay in the mansion; go nowhere alone. We don't know what to expect in the Outrealms." This, in defiance of Old Hubba's assertion that _his_ Outrealm, at least, was safe.

Chrom had looked at Marth specifically. "Prince Marth. Please understand that I disagree with Old Hubba's view of you. I think that, despite being an Einherjar, you are a real person—I can feel that you have a heart, a will of your own. You are more than a card. But, just this one time, I must put my foot down. You may be a real person, but you are still under my command. As… your master, I order you not to hunt after Caeda on your own. We will save her together, without your defection."

And Marth had cast his eyes downward. "…Very well."

Lucina shook her head, clenching her teeth. She knew she must calm down, but she wanted to blow off some steam, just this once.

She sighed. She had no choice in the matter. She couldn't very well return to her room and wake her roommate with her temper.

Who _was_ her roommate, anyway? Severa? Inigo? _Probably Brady._

"Lady Lucina."

Lucina glanced, surprised, at the newcomer. "Ah! Prince Marth, you startled me." She nodded at him respectfully. "What brings you here at this hour? Are you all right?"

"No," Marth admitted. "I'm… I'm troubled that a rescue would be impossible."

"It isn't," Lucina insisted. "Don't let the old man get in your head. We'll find a way."

"I don't see what you could possibly do," Marth sighed. "Algol may not seem like it, but he has quite a wit to him. Sneaking up on him is no easy task, especially considering his army of tireless Einherjar protecting him even as he sleeps."

Lucina threw her hands up. Her frustration nearly pushed her to snapping at Marth, but she held herself back, at least somewhat. "I don't know what you want to hear, Your Highness! You doubt my reassurances, and we have no other options. Would you like me to tell you that the only option is to lose her?"

"That is not the only option." A dangerous twinkle lit in Marth's eye.

Lucina frowned, watching him. "…No… No, my father forbade it. You cannot."

"I must, and I will," said Marth determinedly. "I shall depart tonight."

"But you _can't!"_ Lucina pressed. "Father gave you an explicit order not to leave."

Marth's eyes narrowed. "I am more than an automaton, Lady Lucina."

Lucina was taken aback. "H-How can you…" She shook her head. She still knew too little about Einherjar to be floored by Marth's claim. "Regardless of whether you _can,_ the fact remains that you shouldn't!"

"You don't understand," Marth said, raising a calming hand. "Lady Lucina, have you ever…" He took a breath, steeling himself. "Have you ever loved someone?"

Lucina blinked, recoiling slightly. "I… No, I…"

"Tell me," Marth insisted, taking a step closer. "Tell me how it ends."

"I…" Lucina closed her eyes. "…Are you certain you want to know?"

"Milady, for all I know, I walk to my death," said Marth. "I _need_ to know. Do I… do we…" He grimaced. "Do Caeda and I… grow old together?"

Lucina sighed, quiet for a moment. She slowly came to terms with the fact that she could not refuse Marth.

"Yes."

The two lords fell silent.

Marth closed his eyes, his expression a peaceful one. "…I see. Thank you, milady." He opened his eyes and turned toward the door. "I beg your leave."

"Your Highness, before you go," Lucina said quickly, reaching out.

Marth hesitated, as did Lucina's hand; her fingers twitched, as if wanting to touch Marth—but unable to.

She dropped her arm, as well as her gaze. "Prince Marth… my homeland was, devastated… ravaged. Everything I knew, everything I loved, would disappear just as soon as I could wrap my fingers around it…"

She slowly clenched a fist, imitating her thought.

"Sifting through the wreckage of my home, I found one last painting." She raised a finger. "Just one. And it was you—the exact portrait of the Hero-King, Marth, that adorns your card. The way you stand—your poise—it's perfect, to my imagination. You are exactly as I dreamed."

Marth pursed his lips sadly.

"On that day," Lucina continued, her lips quivering, "earlier that morning, I had received news of my aunt's death. The last of my family, aside from brothers and cousins, gone from my life… I felt as though I had nothing left. But then… I found you. The portrait. The regality of the legendary Hero-King, the noble poise of the champion of yore… It filled me with such resolve as I had never felt. I knew, that day, that I had to become a champion worthy of you. So… I adorned your clothes, I wielded my birthright Falchion, and I waged war against the evil that had taken everything from me."

Lucina sniffed; her hand immediately removed the tear from her eye before it became too large of a threat.

"That portrait… I owe it everything," said Lucina. "So, P-Prince Marth, please, humor me… Please, tell me I did right. Tell me… you were watching over me, as I always imagined."

Marth was silent. His warm blue eyes assessed Lucina during the lull.

"I am certain that the true Marth was," he said at last. "Were I him, I would consider the opportunity wasted if I had not. Lady Lucina, you have much more courage than even the Hero-King ever did." He looked down. "If I am not the true Marth, then I will offer this in his stead: Thank you, Lucina. You are far more worthy of that blade than I."

Lucina could not meet his eye. She fought for self-control, her emotions threatening to overcome her. Just for a moment, she allowed herself this playful fantasy—that Marth, at last, had come to congratulate her for everything she had done. _A selfish fantasy._

Marth smiled. "You have made no mistakes yet. I trust in you."

Lucina squeezed her eyes shut.

 _You are wrong._

The illusion was shattered.

 _'No mistakes…' So you were not watching over me after all. Because, if you were, you would know that isn't true. You would have witnessed my greatest failure, my greatest moment of weakness._

Lucina forced a smile for Marth. "Thank you, Prince Marth. Your words are too kind." She nodded at the door. "Now… if you intend to leave, you must do it now. I will tell my father of this in half an hour, and we will come after you."

"I suppose I should expect no less." Marth's hand rested on the doorknob. "Thank you, Lucina… You are making the right choice." He stared her in the eye seriously. "There's… so much I want to say to you, but I cannot. Remember this, Lucina, if I do not have the chance to say it later: find Seliph, and tell him of my fate."

"Seliph…" The name vaguely rang a bell. "How will I find him?" _And… your 'fate'?_

Marth looked around furtively. "…I haven't the time. Fear not, Lucina. I'm certain your paths will cross—and hopefully, so will ours."

He turned to the door and slipped out into the night.

Lucina took a long breath, her heart pounding. _What have I done…?_

* * *

"What?! How did he—Argh, it doesn't matter!"

Chrom was immediately on his feet, grabbing Falchion from its spot leaning against the wall.

"We ride immediately! Lucina: rally the Shepherds!"

Lucina frowned. "…At once, Father."

* * *

The night was cool, and the moonlight pleasant. It would have been perfect for a stroll.

Despite the chill in the air, Lucina's skin boiled. Her cheeks glowed red in shame for what she had done, and further for her cowardice: she had yet to tell Chrom of her misdemeanor, and she was not even certain if she would tell him at all.

Not to mention the dread. She could not imagine what waited for them at the arena that Algol had spoken of—'a few miles to the north,' he had said. What would be there? Would Marth still be alive? Would Caeda be spared, as promised?

Not to mention… the only offer was 'sparing' Caeda. Nothing of returning her card to Old Hubba… The Shepherds truly had nothing to gain from this besides peace of mind, knowing of Caeda's survival—at least for now.

 _Stupid,_ she thought bitterly. _What a stupid decision. I let my heart get ahead of my mind. What a costly error…_

* * *

The arena was relatively small. Chrom had seen few, if any, aside from Arena Ferox, and this little gymnasium had nothing on the grand playground of the Khans. Many of the building's pillars were crumbling, and no signs showed of recent habitation—with the exception of its many lit torches, which painted the walls warmly in defiance of the night.

As Chrom entered the central court of the arena, his eyes were quickly drawn to the splash of color in the sea of brown.

Blue. A cape, kneeling in the center of the arena, the owner's back to the newcomers.

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "…Marth?"

The blue figure twitched, noticing them, and it slowly stood. With methodical, deliberate motions, it turned around.

It was, indeed, Marth. He stood regally, his hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword. His expression carried both pity and resolve.

"Hold fast," Marth commanded. The mass of Shepherds listed to a stop.

Marth nodded respectfully at the leader of the group. "Lord Chrom."

"Prince Marth," Chrom echoed, with equal respect, but also a measure of skepticism. "I'm glad you're unhurt."

"Likewise," said Marth. He gritted his teeth, tightly gripping the handle of his sword. "Though I am afraid pleasantries will have to wait."

"What happened, Marth?" Chrom asked. "Where's Algol?"

"He left," said Marth.

"So he _was_ here," said Chrom. "What happened?"

"Suffice to say that Caeda is quite safe." Marth forced a smile, patting his breast pocket.

Morgan brightened. "That's wonder—!"

Chrom halted her with a gesture. "But… he got what he wanted, didn't he, Marth." He rested his hand on the pommel of Falchion. "You're on _his_ side."

"I am. He… defeated me with his words, you could say. I surrendered." He grimaced. "So yes, I am under Algol's command as of now."

"Dammit, Marth…" Chrom muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "And I suppose he gave you some pretty special orders, huh?"

"Single combat with the inheritor of Falchion," Marth stated. "If I win, I return to him without being forced into my card. If not, well… then I'm no good to him as a fighter anyway." He stared Chrom into the eye determinedly. "Milord, if I lose here, I lose all of my memories. I am reset to the point in time at which that card captures me. I do not want that to happen."

Marth slowly extracted his sword from its sheath. It glowed with a golden radiance as he held it. "I will not lose this fight. Not with this blade in my hand."

Chrom furrowed his eyebrows as he watched the blade. It looked so familiar, but something about it—some small detail was just _off._

His eyes widened. "Falchion!" He looked down at his own sword, which lay sheathed on his hip. The hilt of Marth's sword was entirely different—where Chrom's and Lucina's Falchions held a teardrop shape, Marth's was a much brighter gold, and forked upwards like a claw.

 _The ORIGINAL Falchion._

Chrom composed himself and approached Marth alone. "So Algol's got some nice toys, huh? Well, I'm not going to let this stop me." He pulled the sheath off of his hip as he walked, and slowed to a stop a few paces away from Marth.

Chrom drew the shining blade of the Exalted Falchion. He tossed the sheath aside. "If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get. I won't hold back, Marth."

"Nor will I."

Marth readied himself, his Falchion held low; Chrom stood with his defensive arm forward, the Fire Emblem ready as his shield.

"Best of luck," Chrom said wryly, and charged forward.

The two Falchions clashed, casting burning sparks across the ground. Marth recoiled from the strike, regaining his balance. _He's stronger! His SWORD is stronger than mine, even. That explains the shine to his blade that my Falchion lacks._

Chrom grinned, twirling his Falchion expectantly.

Marth straightened his expression and readied his sword once again. _It matters little. Where he has strength, I have speed, and…_

Marth paced slowly around Chrom, constantly keeping his sword forward and low. The stance discouraged Chrom from reckless offense, while also understating Falchion's true range.

Marth deftly swiped the tip of his blade upward, with the finesse of a fencer. Chrom sidestepped the attack, and tried to lunge in, but found himself unable to—Marth was clearly a master of keeping Chrom at range.

Chrom grit his teeth, frustrated, as he searched for an opening. Marth fought like a lanceman, constantly focused on defensive spacing and getting in stray hits—a fighting style Chrom had always struggled with, given his fondness for aggression.

Marth's expression was impassive, and he watched Chrom with an analytical stare. He feinted forward, raising Falchion as he did so.

Chrom slashed at the approaching Marth, intending to delay the prince's attack. Marth foresaw the attack and ducked, before stabbing forward with the narrow tip of Falchion.

Chrom brought up the Fire Emblem in time to guard from Marth's attack, and shoved forward, trying to throw Marth off balance; but Marth swiftly twirled to the side to dodge the bash and landed one, two cuts on Chrom.

Chrom backed away, wincing at the minor wounds. He was reminded of his fight with Lex: Marth was reading him like a book. _And consistently! Twice in a row, back to back. He knows. He was paying attention to how I fought earlier—and he took notes, apparently._ He readied himself, determined. _Doesn't matter—Focus, Chrom. I can't keep letting him set the pace for the fight._

Marth saw the change in Chrom's stance and couldn't resist a small smile. _He figured it out._

Chrom took the offensive, charging forward shield-first into Marth.

Marth grunted as the Fire Emblem impacted in his gut, taking him by surprise. The pommel of Chrom's Falchion came soaring from over the shield, but Marth ducked away before the bludgeon could connect.

Chrom frowned as Marth backed away. They were back to where they started, and Chrom still didn't—

Marth surprised Chrom by suddenly turning aggressive. Chrom found himself deflecting attack after attack, before finally gaining his bearings.

Chrom met Marth's blow with a blow of his own, and his stronger Falchion rebounded Marth's.

Marth recovered from the staggering blow, waiting for Chrom's follow-up. As expected, Chrom pressed his advantage when he shouldn't have.

Marth stuck his foot forward and leaned out of Chrom's swing. Marth shifted his weight forward and pushed, trying to trip Chrom. Chrom stumbled; Marth tried to press on and force Chrom onto the ground.

Chrom stabbed the ground with Falchion, catching his balance, and he swung around on the fixed blade, planting his boot in Marth's sternum.

Marth was knocked onto his back, winded. As Marth stood, Chrom dislodged his sword from the ground.

Both warriors panted, holding their respective Falchions at the ready.

"Gotta say, Marth," Chrom breathed, "you're pretty good, and you don't even have your experiences from the War of Heroes. Can't say I envy your enemies."

"Nor I yours," Marth replied, rubbing his smarting chest. Then, he stood straight. "But you know you cannot win. I have had the advantage this whole time; I've watched how you fight."

"I wanna say 'don't count me out yet,' but you've kinda got a point," sighed Chrom. "Your style is a tough one for me to deal with."

Marth twirled Falchion. "So you _do_ see."

"Sure do, but I've got a secret weapon." Chrom grinned. "Someone who's much better at this sort of fight than me."

Chrom glanced over her shoulder, meeting the eye of his 'secret weapon.'

Lucina nodded at him. If Chrom hadn't tapped out on his own, she would have told him to.

Lucina approached the two swordsmen, her expression impassive. "I'll take it from here, Father."

Chrom patted her on the shoulder. "You've got this, Lucina. Good luck."

Chrom headed back to rejoin the other spectators, leaving Marth and Lucina staring down in the center of the arena.

"You wish to fight the wielder of Falchion," Lucina stated. She drew her weapon—it lacked the glow of Chrom's, and likely its power as well, but strength had proven to matter little in this fight so far. "I am the latest inheritor of the sword—your final descendant."

"Are you certain you can do this, Lucina?" Marth enquired. "Can you bring yourself to point that weapon at me?"

"I'll do what I must to save my friends," Lucina stated. She adopted her battle stance, holding Falchion horizontally. It was a stance Marth was thoroughly unfamiliar with. "I won't lie, Marth. I deeply sympathize with you, and I wish things hadn't come to this." She tightened her grip on Falchion. "But I believe you are in the wrong. If I must fight you, I will. And I _will_ win." _And I will right my wrong._

"Very well." Marth readied. "En garde!"

Lucina's grip on her sword was such that Marth had never seen. She held the hilt of the sword close to her ear, the blade aiming forward—an aggressive stance, fit for quick stabs to wound the opponent.

Marth took a suitable tactic: defense. If he kept his guard up, he reasoned, she could not get those glancing blows in, and her strategy would crumble.

Marth decided to test the waters: a quick flick of Falchion, testing Lucina's defenses.

This was a mistake.

Lucina powered the blow away, dashed forward with stunning nimbleness, and scored multiple cuts on Marth.

Marth retreated, shocked. _She's—she's impossibly fast!_

Chrom had implied that Lucina was suited to combating defensive styles. Here was the proof.

He composed himself, frowning determinedly. _Change of plans. Let's see how she handles some aggression._

Marth lunged forward, stabbing with Falchion. Lucina parried; Marth expected her to push her advantage, as she had previously, but she relented instead.

Marth continued his offensive, hoping to force a slip-up from his opponent. In Marth's experience, when pushed excessively, most enemies folded.

Lucina didn't. She kept her expression cool, her eyes following every motion of Marth's Falchion and blocking in kind. The attacks slid right off of the face of her blade—deflection, rather than Chrom's blunt, impact-based guarding. A far more frustrating tactic for Marth to deal with.

But Marth had fought frustrating-er. He kept his head.

Marth intentionally whiffed a swing, leaving an opening for Lucina to strike. She took the bait, lunging for Marth.

Marth sidestepped. Lucina's eyes continued to follow him, and she pursued the sidestep. She had delayed her attack as she waited for Marth to dodge, and only now threw out her sword.

Marth narrowly deflected the strike, and now found himself on the defensive. Lucina pressed an assault similar to Marth's: the two Falchions weaved a firework pattern in the air as Marth deflected each blow.

Lucina took a half-step back, easing the pressure on Marth. Neither lord wished to tire themselves out on offense so quickly.

Marth re-adopted his defensive stance. Aggression had gotten him nowhere, and he was more comfortable with defense.

Lucina waited patiently. A bead of sweat dripped down her chin; Marth, similarly, shined in the moonlight.

Neither lord let their fatigue show. Impassive expressions ruled the day as they continued to circle each other.

Lucina feinted forward. Marth didn't take the bait.

Marth attacked. Lucina easily parried.

Lucina feinted forward. Nope, it actually wasn't a feint, but Marth blocked successfully.

Marth feinted forward, just like Lucina's previous ones. Lucina took the bait, sort of.

If, by 'taking the bait,' that meant she would lunge forward, Falchion raised over her head, and bring the sword down in a powerful blow like one her father would perform, utterly taking Marth by surprise and shifting the entire dynamic of the fight… then, yes, she took the bait.

Marth barely deflected the attack, the force of the blow staggering him—if her sword had been Chrom's Falchion, Marth feared he would have been disarmed.

He brought his sword up in time to block Lucina's follow up, just barely; he was on his heels, backing away with each attack.

Lucina gripped her parallel Falchion tightly and swung it down. Marth brought his Falchion up as well, and the two swords clashed, locked together as the two lords struggled for dominance.

Marth gritted his teeth, pushing upward on his weapon. Lucina's expression was likewise determined, as she put her weight behind their locked blades.

Marth dug his heels into the dirt and pushed upward, intending to dislodge Lucina's blade from his—but Lucina released her pressure just then, and Marth pushed up into nothing.

Marth tried to catch his footing, already knowing it was too late. Lucina swiped Marth's blade aside and sliced a red line down Marth's left wrist.

Marth staggered backward, crying out at the injury; Lucina did not pursue. Marth fell to a knee, pressing against his bleeding wrist with his opposite, sword-wielding glove, still holding Falchion. He panted, covered in sweat, as he stared at the grisly wound.

Lucina could make out a "Woohoo!" from Morgan back in the crowd.

Lucina's eyes narrowed, staring down at the Hero-King. "Admit defeat, Marth," she stated. "If you surrender, you can rejoin us, right?"

Marth gritted his teeth, shaking his head. "I… I _can't…!_ I have to… I…"

"Please," Lucina said softly. She offered her left hand. "Caeda is safe now. You can come home."

Marth stared at her hand, pained tears welling in his eyes. Indecision dominated his expression.

Finally, slowly, he reached out to her with his bloodied hand.

His hand grasped hers. Slowly, Lucina started to smile.

Marth's grip tightened, and he grimaced. Lucina's smile died.

Marth's other hand squeezed Falchion, and he yanked on Lucina's arm, his sharp blade awaiting her.

Shocked, Lucina defensively raised her Falchion, reflexively swatting aside Marth's sword and plunging her blade into the Hero-King's chest.

Lucina recoiled in horror, pulling her sword from Marth's sternum. Marth collapsed backwards; he wheezed as his blood seeped into the arena's dirt floor.

Lucina trembled, vaguely aware of various footsteps quickly approaching her. She felt a pair of hands take her by the shoulders and shake her. A shouting voice accompanied.

Chrom… it was Father. "Are you all right?" Chrom insisted, worry in his eyes. "Lucina, talk to me!"

"I—I—I'm f-fine," Lucina stammered dazedly. She looked down at Marth, whose breathing was rough and arrhythmic. "Marth… he…"

Marth coughed, splattering blood across his clothes. "Y-You… you did it," he said, smiling weakly. "You w-won…"

Lucina pushed Chrom off of her, her eyes locked on Marth in horror. "Wh-Why, Marth?! It didn't have to be this way!"

"I-It did, actually," he whispered, still smiling. "This h-had to happen…"

Slowly, with his trembling right hand—his left one was all but useless, now—he reached into his chest pocket and produced two cards. He feebly lifted his hand, offering the gifts to the Shepherds.

"M-Marth… and Caeda," Marth breathed.

Chrom slowly accepted the cards. "Marth… I'm sorry."

"Brady!" Lucina cried, looking around. "Mother! Anyone! We need a healer!"

"I'm right here," Brady said. He grimaced as he approached. "…Sorry, sis, but… I don't think a staff's gonna do anything."

"L-Lucina," Marth wheezed. "Listen to me, Lucina…"

Lucina knelt over him. When he offered his hand, she grasped it with both of her own. "This didn't have to happen," she insisted. "You never had to…"

"Lucina!" Marth interrupted loudly, and paid for his outburst with a brief coughing fit. "…I don't have much time left before I return to the card, so… just listen, okay?"

Lucina felt tears in her eyes. She nodded.

"T-Tell Old Hubba… Tell him you saved Caeda," Marth said. He smiled. "…She's quite a delightful person. I love her, Lucina… I really do."

"I know." Lucina smiled tearfully. "When we summon you back from the card, I'll… I'll tell you about everything you forgot. You'll get to be with Caeda, I promise."

Marth coughed again, his smile gone. "N-No, Lucina… Tell Old Hubba that you lost me."

Lucina and Chrom both frowned. The other listeners murmured among themselves.

"What?" Lucina stated.

"T-Tell him my card was destroyed… and don't summon me." Marth was deadly serious. "…Not that you _can_ summon me until a full day after I return to my card."

"Why?" Chrom asked.

"H-He'd be upset if I was returned to the card…" Marth began. "…We have so many memories together… that he wouldn't want me to forget. I-It would be a softer blow… if you told him I was destroyed."

Lucina pursed her lips. "…Even after everything he said to you, you are still close with him."

"I've always been his favorite," Marth chuckled. "And I… have always loved him like a father."

The mass of Shepherds was silent. Marth continued to smile as he bled out.

"Don't grieve for me," Marth breathed. With a weak, trembling hand, he slowly reached up to brush his fingers against Lucina's cheek. "…My time passed, long ago…"

He gestured for Lucina to come closer, and she did so. Practically inaudible, he whispered into her ear: "Remember… Find Seliph. Tell him… tell him…"

Marth's head fell back with finality.

Runes of light encircled him, and he faded away in a burst.

* * *

The return to the mansion was numb and quiet. Lucina politely refused the concern of several Shepherds; she felt she had done nothing to earn their comfort.

She looked down at Marth's card, clasped in her trembling hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I failed you."

Lucina stowed the card away in her pocket.

* * *

Chrom's eyes narrowed. Someone awaited them outside the mansion's front door.

He squinted to make out the figure. As they drew nearer, the person approached to greet them.

"Ah," Chrom said, finally recognizing the silhouette. "What's wrong, Cynthia?"

Cynthia adjusted her arm in its cast. "Well, my arm itches like crazy, for one," she said irritably. "But, uh, more importantly…" She gestured at the door to the mansion. "We have a guest. She asked for you, Captain."

Maribelle frowned. "Really? A guest? …Do you know who it is?"

"No," Cynthia admitted. "She's got silver hair… and there's something really familiar about her, too."

"Silver hair…" Chrom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't suppose it could be… the Silver-Haired Maiden of legend? …Her Einherjar, at least. She was supposedly gifted with foresight."

Cynthia shrugged. "Only one way to find out." She stepped aside, nodding at the door.

Chrom approached the door, with Cynthia, Maribelle, Brady, Lucina, and Morgan following behind. The rest of the Shepherds waited outside.

Chrom rested his hand on the door's handle, composing himself. _How am I supposed to act in front of the Silver-Haired Maiden? Man, I wasn't ready for this tonight._

He gathered his courage and opened the door. Sure enough, in the middle of the foyer stood a woman with silver hair, her back to the door. As Chrom and the others filed in, she turned around, a wide smile growing on her face.

Chrom crossed his arms, watching her. _Geez. What should I even say in this situ—?_ He paused. _Wait… wait, those clothes…_

"Ah! You finally made it, Chrom." The woman strode closer, still grinning widely.

Chrom offered a hand for her to shake. "Pleasure to—"

The woman brushed Chrom's hand aside, put her hands on his cheeks, and firmly pressed her lips against his.

Eyes widened from the onlookers. Maribelle's grip tightened on her parasol, bending it nearly to the breaking point.

Chrom raised his hands, glancing aside at Maribelle in horror, as if to say, "No hands! This isn't my fault!"

The woman finally pulled away, smiling widely. "Sorry, hon. I missed you."

Chrom's cheeks were heated to a bright red, and he shook his head dumbly. "Wh—Wha…" He came to his senses, growing angry out of embarrassment. "Wh-Why?! Who _are_ you?"

Her eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion, though her smile persisted. "What are you talking about, Chrom? It's me." She placed a hand on her chest. "It's Robin."

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 5 – **Time's Split**_


	5. Time's Split

Chapter 5: **Time's Split**

* * *

"OW!"

Robin grabbed her smarting hip, shrinking before Maribelle's parasol-based assault.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Robin insisted, trying to stave Maribelle off with a hand. "I didn't realize…!"

Maribelle wielded the parasol threateningly, murder in her eyes. "Listen here, you low-born, cuckolding scum," she threatened, "you have no idea of the horrors you have just—"

"Maribelle," Chrom interrupted. "Maybe we should just hear her out."

Maribelle whirled around, and Chrom found himself at the business end of Maribelle's parasol. "You are _not_ taking her side right now!" she shouted.

Chrom raised his hands defensively. "Look, all I'm saying is, we should at least get some context before you, ah… murder her."

"If my two cents matter, I like that plan," Robin added.

"Silence!"

Chrom pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hasn't tonight been long enough, dear? Let's just get this out of the way so we can go to sleep…"

Robin flushed red with embarrassment. "…'Dear'? Oh, gods. Not again."

"Shot in the dark here," said Morgan, "but I think she's from an alternate timeline."

"Yes! What the young lady said," Robin said eagerly. "So _please_ put down your parasol, Maribelle, and let me clear up this misunderstanding."

"You will use my title when addressing me, wretch," Maribelle scoffed.

Robin sighed. "…Yes, ma'am." _It's like when we first met all over again._

"And let's take this to the conference room," Chrom added slowly. He gently pushed Maribelle's parasol down. "Let's just sit down… and have a relaxing chat."

Robin brightened. "Oh! I have a better plan. How about I take you to my camp? Then Chrom and I—" She bit her tongue. _"My_ Chrom and I can explain everything. It's only a mile or two to the south, in the woods."

Chrom faced his wife. "What do you think, Maribelle?"

Maribelle crossed her arms irritably. "As you wish."

Chrom took a step toward the door before hesitating. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that Lucina, Morgan, Cynthia, and Brady stood still, evidently more than willing to not watch Maribelle's wrath unfold.

Chrom gestured impatiently. _I need, like… witnesses around, at least!_

Reluctantly, they followed.

* * *

Sully squinted into the dark. "…Hold up, there. Who goes?"

"It's just me, Sully," Robin said brightly. "I brought some guests."

"Oh! Welcome back, Robin. How'd scouting go?"

Robin waggled her hand 'so-so.' "Could've been better."

"Hmhm. Well, go on in, Chrom's waiting in his tent."

As Robin drew closer, Sully made out one of the silhouettes standing next to her—Chrom, unmistakably. Sully frowned in confusion. "I thought…"

Then, more: Lissa. Virion. Stahl. S…Sully?

Sully watched, slack-jawed, as her duplicate walked right past her (an equal look of awe on the other Sully's face).

"Aw, hell!" Sully muttered.

* * *

Robin stepped halfway through the tent flap. Chrom looked up at her from his desk, a smile growing at the sight. "Hey there. What are you doing back so soon? I thought you'd be out for the rest of the night."

Robin took a breath. "Okay. Don't freak out."

"What? Why?"

Robin shifted the tent flap aside. A small assortment of familiar faces—too familiar, in one instance—filed in one after the other.

Chrom stood, frowning quietly at his doppelganger. For a long moment, all occupants of the tent were dead silent.

The hosting Chrom spoke first. "…You've got to be kidding me, Robin."

Chrom—the first Chrom—slowly offered a hand. "Uh… Greetings. I'm… Well, you know who I am."

The alternate Chrom slowly shook the first Chrom's hand. "Sorry if this comes off as rude, but _boy_ do I hate timeline shenanigans. Things get really confusing, really fast." He faced Robin. "Can we get some nicknames going?" He gestured at the first Chrom and his accompanying family. "What should we call them?"

"'Scuse me?" said Brady. "Why're _we_ the ones stuck with nicknames?"

"Because this is _my_ camp," said the alternate Chrom.

"Um, Chrom," Robin said quietly. "W-We should probably… uh… take the nicknames, instead."

Chrom pursed his lips. "…It happened again, didn't it."

Robin nodded, embarrassed.

Chrom sighed, then forced a smile for the newcomers. "I apologize for my wife's behavior. I hope she didn't scare you too badly."

"Your _wife,"_ the first Chrom said dryly, glancing at Robin. _Huh. Not sure what to make of this. If Maribelle was in a better mood, she'd be teasing me to high heaven right now._ "Well, Maribelle didn't break anything of hers, so we're all good."

"Maribelle? You and her?" The other Chrom looked from his duplicate, to Maribelle, and back again. "Huh! Never gave it a thought."

"You're not gonna start now," Robin teased. Her husband rolled his eyes.

"Well, as irritating as the naming situation goes, it's always interesting hearing the differences between times," the other Chrom said. "I'd be happy to hear your story. That is, assuming Robin is forgiven?"

The first Chrom glanced at Maribelle. She curtly nodded, though she still held a grumpy expression.

"Great!" said Robin. "As for naming, let's keep things simple. You guys keep your names, and we'll just go by alternate-whatever. Or alt-whatever. For example, I'll be alt-Robin! How's that sound?"

"Sounds like I'm gonna hate the word 'alternate' come morning," muttered Chrom. He faced… er… alt-Chrom. "Speaking of which, do you mind if we adjourn for now? As interested as I am, I'm ridiculously sleepy. It's been a hell of a night."

"Anything for a fellow Exalt." The two Chroms shook hands. "See you then."

* * *

Chrom grinned at Maribelle as he led the group back to the mansion—thankfully, not a terribly far walk. "Penny for your thoughts."

"I suppose I _can_ deign to forgive the alternate Robin for her slight," Maribelle said coolly. _"Although,_ she implied she has done such an act before, and therefore should have prepared for that possibility!"

"I'm more surprised that Dad was a girl," Morgan noted. "Some might say 'even better.' I probably wouldn't, but the jury's out 'til I get some sleep."

Nobody really had anything to say to that. Cynthia did facepalm, though.

* * *

Chrom leaned his sword against the wall and quietly slipped into bed. Maribelle already occupied the other half, rather pointedly facing away from Chrom.

"Maribelle, come on," Chrom groaned. "Are you seriously going to pout?"

"I am not pouting," Maribelle stated coldly, still not facing him. "And I would thank you not to insult me by flinging such a childish term my way. Good night."

"Don't be mad at me," said Chrom. "And don't be mad at the other Robin, either. It was just a misunderstanding."

"Fine," Maribelle snapped. "It was. There we go. Now, good night."

Chrom sighed and doused his lamp.

* * *

Lucina stared at the card clasped in her hand. In the darkness, she could not see it, but she had long ago memorized every detail of Marth's painting.

She pulled the covers tighter over her, the sense of failure overwhelming.

"Hey. Lucina."

Lucina rolled over to face the second bed, surprised that her roommate was still awake. "What is it, Brady?"

"It's about those other guys. The, uh, the other-timeline guys."

"What about them?"

Brady huffed. "Whaddya _mean_ 'what about them'? They're _us!_ That doesn't freak you out?"

"To be honest: no. I had prepared for this possibility. After all, the situation with the dissonant Grima let us know that parallel timelines exist. That, and the Outrealms seem to be some sort of crossroads… as if they exist outside of the normal flow of time." She placed Marth's card on her nightstand, and she sat up. "It seemed somewhat inevitable. If a theoretically infinite number of timelines exist, then shouldn't there be _at least_ one other timeline that also journeys into the Outrealms?"

"…Well… I guess when ya put it like _that…_ " Brady muttered. "I still think it's weird. Not lookin' forward to meetin' my alternate self."

They were silent for a moment.

"Wait!" Brady said suddenly—Lucina could hear him sit up quickly in alarm. "What if that alternate party don't have us?! The, uh, the future kids, y'know?"

Lucina frowned thoughtfully. "…Perhaps… But Anna insinuated that our time travel was what opened the Outrealm Gate in our timeline. Following that line of reasoning, the alternate party would not be able to enter the Outrealms if we didn't travel through time in the first place."

"Mm."

Brady slowly eased back.

Lucina followed suit, resting her head on the comfortable pillow. _If I can give Old Hubba one compliment, it's these rooms,_ Lucina thought. _These beds are comparable to Ylisstol's._

"One last thing, sis."

"Certainly."

Brady paused. It was typical of him to take such long gaps when preparing something difficult to say; Lucina waited patiently.

"Does it bother you that… uh… in that other timeline…" Brady took a breath. "…Ma and Pa didn't end up together?"

Lucina furrowed her eyebrows.

Brady continued, "The other Pa had a thing for someone else—Robin, of all people—and he said he never even _considered_ Ma _._ I dunno 'bout you, but that… that _terrifies_ me, Luce." He shifted uncomfortably under his sheets. "Well? Does _that_ freak you out?"

Lucina was quiet.

"…Y-Yes, Brady. I also find that concerning, but… I cannot justify to myself why. After all, everything worked out in our timeline, and that's all that matters. …Truth be told, once we recover Robin, there is little else left to be righted in this time."

"'Left to be righted'…? Wait, yer not saying ya still wanna go _back?"_ Brady said indignantly. "Our future's a hellhole, Lucina, even with Grima gone! Everythin's better here. _An'_ we've got family that we can't just leave behind."

"You are putting words in my mouth, Brady. I never said anything about going back."

"…You can't hide from me, Luce."

"I have no intention to." Lucina rolled over, her back to Brady. "…It's been too stressful of a day to continue conversing. We both need sleep. Good night, Brady."

Brady hesitated, evidently still skeptical, but he relented. "…G'night, sis."

* * *

"Okay. First things first." Chrom sat up. "How did scouting go?"

Robin sat up as well. "I… followed that lead, but I couldn't investigate the mansion before the other party arrived."

Chrom frowned. "That's too bad. So, no news on the bandits we've heard so much about?"

"No, nothing about the Einherjar. If that source was right, then the mansion _is_ where they stem from, but the other Shepherds were using that building as a home base. Still are, in fact. I can't see them being the cause of the banditry, though."

"Can we be sure of that?" Chrom noted.

Robin chuckled. "I think so. You can trust _yourself,_ can't you?"

Chrom laughed as well. "You've got a point there. Maybe they'll have more information on the Einherjar when we see them in the morning."

Robin's smile withered. "…I guess."

Chrom watched his wife's troubled expression. "What's the matter?"

"Chrom…" Robin said quietly. "…I didn't see their me among them."

Chrom frowned. "Hm… Yeah, I guess we didn't see their alternate Robin. …Ah!" He snapped his fingers, grinning. "That short-haired girl among them, the one with the tan-brown hair. It must have been her."

"I dunno," said Robin anxiously. "The only other party we've seen—their Robin was much more similar to me. Different hair color, but similar personality. She was forward, like me. But that brown-haired girl was kind of reserved… not to mention her hairstyle was radically different."

"Hair seems to be a variable with the alternate Robins," Chrom mused. "Everyone else in the present-day Shepherds looks pretty much the same across timelines except for you."

"To be fair, only seeing two other timelines doesn't exactly make that the rule," Robin teased.

"Anyway," Chrom said, "the girl was wearing clothes just like yours. The whole grandmaster-cloak thing. She _had_ to have been the other you."

"It's not like I'm the only one who wears that," Robin said, frowning. "It's Plegian! …Not to mention that _our son_ wears the same thing?"

Chrom rolled his eyes. "Like Morgan proves me wrong."

* * *

The sun shone bright as the morning dawned in the Outrealm. The Shepherds, eager to meet their other selves, were quick to mobilize for the short march southward.

As they reached the alternate Shepherds' camp, they noticed most of the alternates were similarly mobilized in order to receive their guests. The two masses of Shepherds slowly melted together into one mingling group, spread across the camp.

Chrom's mind spun at the sheer number of familiar faces. Two Vaikes, two Rickens. Two Kjelles—that answered the question about children.

 _Gods, if there's one parallel Shepherd for each of ours, there's something like eighty or ninety people here in total,_ he thought. _Hopefully everyone splits up alright when we go our separate ways. …I'll get another headcount after all this._

Chrom, accompanied by the same small group as the previous night, followed the welcoming alternates of Chrom and Robin into the conference tent.

Chrom, Lucina, Brady, Maribelle, Cynthia, and Morgan took a side of the conference table. Maribelle was quite deliberate in sitting next to Chrom.

The alternate Chrom and Robin stood on the other side. Alt-Chrom pulled out a chair for his wife. Robin smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek before sitting down.

Maribelle's eyes narrowed in disgust.

Alternate-Chrom took a seat next to his wife. "So," he began. "I guess you guys have some questions. So do we."

"By all means, go first," said Chrom. "I'll let my questions fester a little more."

"As you wish." Robin and alternate-Chrom exchanged a nod. "I guess what's really on my mind is, what brings you to the Outrealms?"

"In search of a missing person," said Chrom. "Our Robin."

Robin frowned. "Really?" She glanced at Morgan. _Hm. So, not her._ She turned back to Chrom _._ "Perhaps we can help—we might've passed her by, at some point. Could you tell me what she looks like?"

The other group paused briefly.

"…If you're asking that question, then you can't help," said Cynthia. "Robin's, ah…"

"Robin's… our _dad,"_ Morgan slowly finished.

The two alternates slowly absorbed Morgan's words. A look of horror grew on Robin's face, while the alternate Chrom broke into a wide, entertained grin.

"I'm—I'm—I'm a _guy?!"_ Robin exclaimed. "Impossible! How?!"

Chrom shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I was pretty shocked to find out you were a woman in _this_ timeline."

Alternate-Chrom burst out laughing. "Hahahaha! Oh, gods, that's _hilarious!"_ He wiped a tear from his eye, aware of the scolding look Robin was giving him. "S-Sorry, but it _is."_

"I don't think so," said Robin.

"I do," Morgan snickered.

"Besides, that explains a lot," alt-Chrom continued. "How else would we _not_ end up together?"

The room fell silent. Robin's eyes burned death rays into her husband's skull.

Alternate-Chrom slowly realized that his words were entirely lacking of tact. To further punctuate this, Maribelle, holding her parasol in a death grip, kicked her chair over and stormed out of the tent without a word.

Chrom grimaced, watching his wife go. He knew he had to follow her, but he couldn't leave just yet, not with all these questions burning in him.

"Uh…" Morgan said: anything to break the silence. "I think, um, that we should introduce ourselves. Right?" Nobody chimed in, so she took the work upon herself. "We've got Chrom over there, his two kids Brady and Lucina, and that was Maribelle that just marched out." She coughed. "You probably knew those. Anyway, this silver-haired beauty sitting right next to me is my sister, Cynthia, and as for moi, I'm Morgan. Robin and Sumia's daughters, that's who we are."

Alt-Chrom cleared his throat nervously. "A-Ah. Sumia and Robin, huh? I could, ah… I could see it."

"So you're a girl in this timeline," said alt-Robin. She smiled. "You are simply adorable! You should meet my son sometime. His name is also Morgan."

Alt-Chrom nodded at Lucina. "Can't forget our daughter. We have a Lucina, too—honestly, the two of you are identical."

"How is that possible?" Chrom asked. "With different parents, shouldn't our kids be entirely different?"

Alt-Chrom shrugged. "In theory, I guess. This proves otherwise, though—actual time travel trumps theory in my book. Your Cynthia looks the same as ours, too, but yours has silver hair while ours has dark brown." At Cynthia's confusion, he clarified, "Sumia and Frederick."

"Oh," Cynthia replied, a bad taste in her mouth.

Chrom frowned. _The more pairing dissonances we learn, the more we're gonna hate each other._ "Let's change the subject."

"Y-Yeah, I agree," alt-Robin coughed. _Sorry, Sumia, you're cute, but I'd never swing that way._ "So—why are you looking for your Robin? How'd he get lost, I mean?"

"Oh, right." Chrom clasped his hands, gathering his thoughts. "Before I make too many assumptions about how similar our timelines are, could you give me a brief rundown of how your timeline went?"

"Sure," alt-Chrom replied. "Starting from when? When Robin woke up?"

"Why not."

"Okay. So, Robin wakes up, then the Ylisse-Plegia War happens. It ended when Emm sacrificed herself to take the fight out of the Plegians, and for real when we finished off Gangrel." He watched the expressions of his audience.

"Good so far," said Chrom.

"Great. So, fast forward two years—but really a year and a half, I guess—and we're wrapped up in another war with Valm. Within a few months, though, we've taken down Walhart the Conqueror. Still good?"

Morgan gave him a thumbs-up.

"Things get weird with Validar, but thanks to Robin's foresight, she was able to save Basilio's life and do a bunch of other stuff and… Hm. Things got complicated here, but long story short, the Grima from Lucina's future merged with the present-day Grima, waking the old beast up, and we fought the monster and won."

Lucina nodded approvingly. "Virtually identical. Astonishing."

Chrom gestured at alt-Robin. "And she survived?"

The two alternates frowned, confused. "…Survived? Did your Robin fall in the final battle?"

"No… well, not exactly…" A thought occurred to Chrom. "Say… Chrom, how did you finish off the Fell Dragon?"

"With the blade of Falchion plunged into the facsimile's chest," alt-Chrom stated. "The beast will not hound our timeline for another millennium at the least."

The tent was silent.

Chrom stared at his hands, frowning. "So… _that's_ the difference."

Alt-Robin looked around. "What? What _difference?_ What other way was there, besides using Falchion?"

"Our Robin used his own power," Chrom explained. "He figured out a different solution… one that sacrificed his own life."

The alternates were stunned.

Chrom remembered Naga's words: the ones she had only spoken _after_ the fall of Grima. "'His life and Grima's were inexorably linked'," he quoted. "'The only hand that can kill Grima is his own.' Robin learned that, if he were the one to finish off the Fell Dragon, the monster would be destroyed forever."

 _"No!"_ alt-Robin shouted, standing and slamming her fists onto the table in indignation. "Y-You're lying!"

"I'm afraid not," said Chrom grimly. "Like I said, his heart and Grima's were linked. Because he killed Grima, he, himself, disappeared into the void." He smiled slightly. "But… Naga told us that there was the tiniest of chances that he could survive, if his bonds were strong enough. And, apparently, we were lucky. We got that tiny chance, and now he's somewhere out there, somewhere in the Outrealms… we hope."

Chrom didn't dare voice his concern that this was all a wild goose chase, but he left that option in the air.

But anyway, he raised his hands, finished. "So that's how we got here."

Robin's eyes were wide with shock; her nails dug into the wooden table. "I… I could've… I…"

A tear ran down her cheek.

"It's so obvious," she breathed, staring at nothing. The Mark of the Fell Dragon, still adorning the back of her right hand, burned. "H-How could I not _see…?"_

Her husband raised a comforting hand, but she whirled away, rushing out of the tent in distress.

"…She'll need some time alone," alt-Chrom said quietly. His hand rested on the pommel of the Falchion, sheathed on his hip. "Unbelievable… absolutely unbelievable. There was a way to kill him for good…"

"Before you blame yourself too much," Chrom interjected, "think. How much worse was your method? You realize that, for his plan to work, Robin had to _die?"_ He crossed his arms. "If you had known of this opportunity beforehand… would you have told your wife to take it?"

Alt-Chrom gripped Falchion, frustrated. "I-I don't know! I hate to think that our distant descendants—our great-grandchildren's great-grandchildren—will have the threat of Grima looming over them. But—" He cut himself off, unable to voice his feelings.

"If you want my two cents… If I had known of the plan beforehand, I would have told Robin not to do it," said Chrom. "Robin and I were very close friends, but even we weren't as close as you must be with your wife. Don't feel bad about what happened—her choice was no more wrong than our Robin's."

Alt-Chrom stared out the tent flap. "…Thanks. I'll take that to heart. And I'll… I'll try to make sure Robin sees it that way, too."

A lull in the conversation.

"…So, why're _you_ guys in the Outrealms?" Cynthia asked.

Alt-Chrom blinked rapidly. "Right! We're actually, uh… our mission isn't _quite_ as noble as yours." He rubbed his head sheepishly. "We're looking for a mythical place, a specific Outrealm. According to our Anna, it's called the Bathrealm."

"The _Bathrealm?"_ Chrom asked skeptically.

"Yeah… It's… It's a hot spring."

No one spoke for a moment.

"Huh," Morgan said. "Well, that's simple."

"Sorry," alt-Chrom said hurriedly. "Our mission is so easy, while yours—"

"Don't worry about it," Chrom laughed. "Honestly, I'm glad to hear it. Happy you guys can just unwind, since the war is over for you. For us, it doesn't end until we come home with Robin." He sighed. "Thanks for having such a simple objective. The lack of drama really makes me happy."

"No problem, I guess." Chrom shrugged. "It shouldn't be this hard to find, to be honest. Anna—er, _our_ Anna—already knew where it was, but she got a little lost. She'll find her way soon enough, I'm sure."

* * *

Alt-Anna gasped excitedly. "Anna, my dear!"

Anna approached her doppelganger, grinning. "How's it going, other-me?" The two high-fived.

"Pretty good, pretty good! _Love_ the hair."

"Likewise, gorgeous."

The alternate Anna frowned. "…Actually, I'm a little lost. Do you remember where the Bathrealm is?"

"Oh, like I could ever forget everyone's favorite Outrealm!" Anna produced a pen and paper. "So, from this Outrealm, you're gonna hop into the Gate. You know how you would get to the Hotrealm?"

"Sure."

"So, you're heading that way—" she sketched a diagram—"by taking a left-inverse at Jungby. But, to get to the Bathrealm, you want to swing downwards around the Aurelis joint instead, and then take a double right-twist at Rausten." She finished the drawing, grinning, and handed it to her alternate self. "Got it?"

Alt-Anna smacked herself on the forehead. "Oh, darn it! I was taking an up-screw at Aurelis, and kept ending up in Crimea. Thanks, bud."

"Anytime, me!" Anna patted her alternate on the arm, and the two parted ways.

…After walking for a little while, Anna hesitated. "No, wait… that wasn't right. You wanna take a triple right screw at…" She shrugged. "Eh, they'll be fine." She resumed walking.

* * *

"We ended up here after hearing reports of banditry in the Outrealms," alt-Chrom explained seriously. "We eventually learned that this had to do with some… some mumbo-jumbo about these things called Einherjar, and we tracked them to their source: that mansion you guys are staying in. Robin was scouting the place when she ran into you."

"The Einherjar _are_ from that mansion," Chrom confirmed. "They are all owned by an ageless man named Old Hubba—that's his home. But they—the Einherjar—were stolen from him by a former Grimleal named Algol, the one responsible for the bandit raids." He took a breath. "Old Hubba calls this conflict the 'Einherjar War.' We recently started helping him out, and we've recovered about a dozen Einherjar already."

"Algol? Name doesn't ring a bell," said alt-Chrom.

Chrom shrugged. "Didn't for me either."

"Heh. Thanks for the information, though. That clears everything—"

The tent flap rustled loudly as someone burst in. All eyes turned to the newcomer: Robin was back, and she wasn't alone.

Robin fumed, gripping the new person on the arm. Alt-Chrom stood, alarmed.

Chrom's heart fell. _Uh-oh._

"What is the meaning of this?!" Robin growled, shaking Gangrel's arm roughly.

* * *

The unfamiliar guy's jaw was wide open, and try as she might to ward him off with sharp glares, his gaze was unrelenting.

"Geez, what do you _want?"_ Severa snapped. "See something you like, pervert?"

The guy had the nerve to laugh. _What an ass,_ Severa thought irritably.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, raising his palms peaceably. "Didn't mean to stare, haha."

"Then stop doing it," she snarled. "Move your filthy eyes off of me, and walk the hell away."

"Literally identical," the man said, grinning widely. "You are _so_ Severa…"

"Obviously," Severa muttered. "You must know the _other_ me. Though she's probably way uglier."

"I wouldn't say that. I can't imagine an ugly Severa."

Severa recoiled. "Ugh! You're gross." She turned away. "I'm leaving. Don't follow me."

"Wait!" he said, reaching out as though to stop her (but knowing better than to touch her). "C-Can't we talk? Do you wanna grab some tea or something?"

 _"Tea?_ What're you, this timeline's Inigo?" she said, disgusted.

"What? Do I look like Inigo?" He beamed. "I'd consider that a compliment, to be honest! My dancing is pretty garbage compared to his."

"…Yep, definitely not Inigo," she muttered. "You've got an ounce of humility in you."

He put a hand on his chest. "Sorry, Severa. My manners just went out the window, didn't they? Heheh. My name's actually Morgan."

Severa's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe that _you're_ Morgan? Morgan's a _girl_ in my timeline."

Morgan shrugged. "I dunno what to tell ya! It's the name my mom gave me, or so I'm told." He tapped his head, still grinning. "Caught a nasty bout of amnesia a while back! And it turns out that hitting yourself in the head with books does _not_ help. Remember that, in case you ever get amnesia! …Wait."

"Okay, fine, you're Morgan," Severa sighed. "With a dumb ramble like that, there's nobody else you could be."

"Yes! You believe me!" He fist-pumped. "Morgan: two, time travel: zero! …My first point was beating Grima."

"…On the other hand, my Morgan isn't such a creep to girls," Severa snarked. "Mister 'I'm-gonna-stare-at-you-for-like-a-minute.'"

"Am I a creep?" Morgan asked, grinning wryly. "Or are you just looking for a reason to dislike me, because suitors have been nothing but pigs to you in the past?"

Severa blinked, surprised. The question hit home.

She slowly scowled. _What a jerk! He knows the other me, and thinks he can just use that knowledge to get under my skin?_

"As a matter of fact," she began, hoping a comeback would come to her: but her wit failed. "Shut the hell up."

Morgan chuckled. "Come on, Severa. Let's just talk like normal human beings, okay? Trust me, I already know how great you are. You don't need to put up this whole act."

"Hey! I am _not_ your timeline's Severa, okay?!" Severa snapped. "You think you know me, but you _don't!"_

Morgan sighed. "…I'm sorry, Severa. You're right. I just… it's really great to see you again."

"What are you even talking about," Severa muttered. She turned away. "We're done here."

"Wait!" Morgan exclaimed. His smile was finally gone, and he had fear in his eyes. "D-Don't go. Please."

"Beg all you want, you'll—"

"She died," Morgan said, grave for once. "She… she's dead."

Severa slowly turned around. Her scowl fell away.

"S-Severa died in the final battle," Morgan said quietly. He looked at the ground. "Versus Grima, she… she saved me."

A number of stinging retorts crossed Severa's tongue, but she bit them all back. Instead, she settled for the much more tactful, "…Why?"

Morgan's eyes watered. He smiled regardless. "W-We were… together," he choked. "She went out by blocking one of Grima's Expiration fireballs. I-It should've been me, but she was… she was faster, and… the more devoted of the couple, evidently." He shook his head. "I'm not sure if it's irony or not, but it's definitely some kind of cosmic thing that our one and only casualty, ever, was in the endgame. The home stretch."

Severa was quiet.

"So, yeah." Morgan smiled again. "I just wanted to talk to you again, y'know? It's been so long. I missed you."

Severa processed Morgan's words; her eyes narrowed. "So, what am I, a _replacement_ to you? You think, just 'cause the other Severa liked you, I would too?" She put her hands on her hips. "News-freaking-flash, buddy: we've _all_ lost people. You aren't some special snowflake who gets, ooh-ah, a shiny new replacement girlfriend, just for telling some sob story." She scoffed. "Honestly, kid, you had a better shot at me _before_ saying all that nonsense."

Morgan sighed. "Should've known. Sorry, Severa, I knew that story wouldn't work, but I kinda got caught up in the moment. Didn't mean to make you mad."

"I'm not _mad,"_ she said. "You don't _want_ to see me mad. Just thought I'd give you some advice: girls aren't really into tales of woe."

"Eh. Gotta give me some credit for trying, though?" Morgan winked. "I mean, this isn't an ordinary girl we're talking about."

"No. No credit. And if pick-up lines worked, Inigo would be crawling in girls, so don't try them anymore."

"C'moooon," Morgan said. "I'll go stir you up some tea right now, and you can tell me how bad I am at picking up girls. I _might_ even throw in a raisin tart or two—I know how much you love those."

"I hate raisins," Severa stated.

"So you _think._ My tarts convert you to the dark side."

Severa rolled her eyes. "…Fine, if it gets you to shut up. One cup of tea. But _no_ raisin tarts."

"Two raisin tarts it is."

 _"One."_

"Fine. You'll be begging me for more, anyways."

Morgan led the way, his heart threatening to burst from excitement. _It's Severa! It's… It's really her!_

* * *

"Why the hell is _Gangrel_ here?!" alt-Chrom shouted. "I-Is he an Einherjar, or something?" He turned to the main party. "Explain!"

"Listen," Chrom said pacifyingly. "He survived his apparent death, and not long before the end of the war, we found him in a remote location, all but resigned to dying in the gutters. I told him, if he's going to throw his life away, throw it at Grima instead of at nothing."

"C-Can confirm," Gangrel added. He laughed at the alternates' expressions. "Ha! I had the same look on my face when he told me that!"

"Don't speak to me," alt-Chrom snarled. "Chrom, you realize this is _Gangrel,_ right? The Mad King? He murdered our sister—it's _his_ fault that Emmeryn died!"

Chrom hesitated. "You… You didn't recruit Gangrel, and you never found…?" He trailed off. "Chrom, after you performed the Awakening ceremony at Mount Prism, what did you do?"

The alternate Chrom blinked. "We… headed straight for Origin Peak and started the final battle, of course. Grima was awake: we had no time to waste."

Chrom took a breath. "Another difference."

Alt-Chrom and Robin exchanged a glance. "Alright, Chrom, enlighten me then. What's this difference?"

"Naga trapped Grima in place," said Chrom. "We had several months to finalize preparations, and we gained six recruits, most of whom were former enemies."

"Really?" said Robin. "Who else?"

Morgan counted on her fingers. "Well, there was Gangrel. Then there was Walhart, and Yen'fay, and Aversa. I guess you guys wouldn't know Priam—he was the last one we recruited." She brightened. "Oh! And how could I forget—"

"Hold on," Chrom said, growing a smile. "Let's… Let's show them, instead."

* * *

Emmeryn had the most vivid case of déjà vu. Reuniting with Chrom, all over again. (At least this time, she had Frederick by her side, rather than braving their reactions alone.)

"Y-You… you… you were alive…?" alt-Chrom breathed. He raised a hand, gently brushing her cheek—identically to how the other Chrom had, almost a year ago. Where Emmeryn had turned away last time, she instead placed her hand atop her alternate brother's, smiling.

"I can't believe it," Robin muttered. "D-Did we… did we do _everything_ wrong?"

"Stop blaming yourself," Chrom said sternly. "I don't know you that well, but if there's one thing Robins have in common, it's that you all just _love_ to shoulder the blame. It's not your fault."

"B-But—But—" Robin's eyes widened. "What if she's still alive in our timeline?! Where did you say you found her?"

Chrom raised a quieting hand. He glanced aside at his mesmerized duplicate, whose hand would not release Emmeryn. "Let's… talk about this outside, okay?"

Chrom gestured for the others to follow; they slowly filed out after him. Emmeryn nodded at Frederick, and though he seemed reluctant, he also left. Soon, the tent was empty save for Emmeryn and her brother from a different timeline.

Slowly, the alternate Chrom dropped his hand. "Emm… I never thought… I…" He shook his head, laughing at his own stupidity. "Sorry for getting all, uh… emotional."

Emmeryn giggled. "Emotional? Hee hee… I don't see any tears."

Chrom rolled his eyes, smiling.

Emmeryn focused. "Chrom… something you need to know is that I… I'm not how I was."

Chrom frowned.

"I don't remember anything," she admitted. "After I… I 'died'… I lost all my memories. They never recovered… and they probably never will."

Chrom noted her manner of speech—that slowness was _definitely_ a new development.

 _Even if she survives, she's still not whole,_ he thought grimly. "Are you okay with that, Emmeryn?"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "The road was very long, and very hard… but it all worked out in the end. I've made so many new memories with my family… I love them all so much." She turned serious. "But… Chrom… if you _did_ find your Emmeryn again… you would have to resign yourself to the fact that… she would not be the same person."

"I wouldn't care," Chrom said. His eyes slowly began to water. "Emm… you don't know what I would give to have you back."

"Oh…" She held out her arms, and Chrom walked into the hug. Emmeryn stroked his head dotingly. "Don't cry, dear…"

"I-I miss you," Chrom choked. "I miss you so much, Emm…"

"I know…"

* * *

Robin placed her hands on her hips. "The remote village, you said?"

"Yep. The one on the island south of Valm. For us, they messaged us for help last November—about a month before we fought the final battle."

Robin's heart fell, and she nodded. "For us, the final battle was in October… October eleventh, if I recall."

"The day after beating Aversa at the base of Origin Peak," said Chrom grimly. "That lines up well. Instead of moving to the peak to fight Grima immediately, we left."

"We received the same distress call after the war," said Robin dejectedly. "We fended off some Grimleal remnants attacking that village in November." She sighed. "…Emmeryn wasn't there."

Chrom grimaced. "I'm sorry, Robin."

"It's okay." She forced a smile. "Thanks anyway."

"I have a question, myself," said Chrom, crossing his arms curiously. "How… How did you and Chrom get together?"

Robin smiled. "Oh, that? Heheh… That's kind of an embarrassing story. I sort of had a crush on him as soon as we met, and—keep in mind I was young and immature three years ago—whenever I set up tactics, I always had him fighting next to me. We built up a synergy that soon appeared off the battlefield, too."

Robin neglected to mention her other manipulations, including a certain time she "accidentally" left her tent flap open while bathing, knowing her object of affection would pass by… Oh, well. All was forgiven by this point, certainly—when she had confessed the truth long ago, her husband had simply said, "Everything worked out, didn't it?"

"Huh," Chrom said. "Interesting. I wonder if our Robin ever…"

Robin turned to Morgan, who seemed distracted by a butterfly. "Morgan, right?"

Morgan snapped awake, facing Robin. "Y-Yeah, what's up?"

Robin smiled warmly. "So… you're my daughter in another timeline?"

"I guess?"

"I love your hair," Robin said. Hesitantly, she reached for Morgan's hair, and stroked it. "…It's Sumia's…"

Morgan shifted uncomfortably.

"Where is Sumia, by the way?" Robin asked.

"Ylisstol," Cynthia answered quickly. "We met an alternate Grima who kinda… beat her up." She gestured with her cast. "Beat a lot of us up."

"Really?!" Robin turned back to Morgan, concerned. "So that's a black eye? I'm so sorry!"

Morgan pulled away from Robin's grip uneasily. "Th-Thanks…? Hey, Chrom!" She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. "I forgot, we had… uh… something to talk about. Remember?"

Chrom blinked. "Um—yeah. Yeah, sure."

He followed Morgan away.

* * *

Now on the outskirts of camp, far from any prying eyes, Morgan put her hands on her hips. "Whew! That was awkward. Thanks, Captain."

"Anytime? …Oh!" Chrom nodded. "This is about the Einherjar, isn't it? We should try resurrecting Marth and Caeda."

"Um—" Morgan nodded hastily. "Sure, that works!"

"Good. I'll go get Lucina, and—"

A third voice interrupted: "Oh, _there_ you fellas are!"

Old Hubba approached, beaming. "I couldn't find ya anywhere! Good ta see you're alright." He frowned. "Hope you're not still plannin' on rescuin' Caeda."

Chrom winced. "A-Actually—"

Old Hubba waved it away. "Oh, whatever! We'll talk about that stuff later. Anyway, I've actually got some more Einherjar for you guys ta find. Out in the plains of Jungby, there's a good number of 'em—all lead by an old legend named Sigurd." He beamed. "So whaddya say? Up for it?"

Chrom and Morgan exchanged a glance.

"Sure…" Chrom said slowly. "But, Old Hubba, there's a few things we have to tell you first. And… you aren't going to like it."

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 6 – **Future Children**_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _The original plan was to give everyone in the alternate party a different name, instead of putting 'alt-' at the front. Needless to say, I dropped that damn fast, on account of it being a dumb idea (for the purposes of this story) and definitely not realistic for so many alternate characters._


	6. Future Children

Chapter 6: **Future Children**

 _or: **Mother's Last Heirloom**_

* * *

The old man set a surprisingly quick pace for one needing a cane. Chrom struggled to match it.

"Say, have you seen my Warp Powder?" Old Hubba asked, looking around absently.

"No, I haven't. Now, as I was saying—"

"To answer yer question, nope, sorry," Old Hubba said, smiling wanly. "I don't got any reinforcements for ya."

Chrom frowned. "That's a shame. I thought you'd have _some_ Einherjar to spare."

"'Fraid not. _All_ of 'em were stolen from me before, so I've only got the ones you've recovered. An' they're all on other assignments—findin' more Einherjar, don't you worry."

"Hm. Guess we'll go it alone, then."

"Yep. At least you've got Marth, though."

Chrom flinched. _Oh. Right._

Morgan was away on her own, readying the Shepherds for their mission to Jungby; if Chrom recalled correctly, Jungby was a small province of the mythical continent of Jugdral. _History lessons abound._

And Lucina was off somewhere, similarly busy—and she had Marth's card. It would be very easy for Chrom to fulfill Marth's dying wish.

Chrom's hand tightened around the Caeda card in his pocket. "Old Hubba…"

The old man paused. "What's wrong, sonny?"

Chrom grimaced. Slowly, he drew the card from his pocket; Old Hubba curiously accepted.

"…Caeda." Hubba's eyes narrowed. "So… you went through with it."

"We had no choice," said Chrom. "Somehow, Marth… he… disobeyed me. He went after Caeda on his own, and he succeeded, but…"

Old Hubba's hand shot to his chest. He gripped his heart painfully. "Chr-Chrom, where's—where's his card?!"

"It…" Chrom breathed. He slowly built up his resolve, and said: "…It was destroyed, Old Hubba. I'm sorry."

Old Hubba hyperventilated. His eyes were wide with shock, and his grip on his chest tightened.

Chrom put a hand on Hubba's shoulder, fearing he had given the ancient man a heart attack. "Old Hubba, are you—?"

Old Hubba closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose. Slowly, he calmed.

"…Sorry if I scared ya, sonny," he said quietly, smiling again. He released his heart and placed both hands atop his cane. "It… It's all right. I forgive ya."

"I'm so sorry," Chrom murmured. "I know how much he meant to you…"

Old Hubba waved it away. "Don't worry about it. Ya make it sound like it was unavoidable, and I trust ya. Don't be too hard on yerself." He chuckled, waving around the card in his hand. "Bea woulda never forgived me if I'd let Caeda go. …Forgove? Forgiveded? Oh, whatever."

Chrom took a breath, smiling. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Every war has casualties," Hubba said. He offered the card back, and Chrom took it. "I'm just glad it wasn't a real person. Now! What were we talkin' about? Sigurd?"

"Sir Chrom!"

Chrom and Old Hubba turned to face the newcomer: the alternate Robin.

Robin grinned widely. "Listen. I talked with my husband, and we're going to pledge you our forces for the time being. It's the least I could do to make up for, uh, coming on to you last night. If I help you in this battle, we'll be even."

Chrom smiled. "Thanks, Robin. I couldn't ask for anything more." He scratched his head. "I guess… report to Morgan, then. She'll give you your orders. Hey, you two are tacticians, maybe you could put your heads together?"

Robin smiled. "Of course. See you later."

As she turned away from Chrom and walked back to her camp, Robin's smile slowly fell.

* * *

Robin wrung her hands anxiously as she approached. "H-Hey," she said quietly.

He glanced at her, surprised.

 _"Please_ tell me you're my Chrom," she demanded.

Alt-Chrom smiled. "'Til death do us part. What's up?"

Robin crossed her arms, looking away nervously. "Chrom… Chrom, I… I didn't make the right choice. I was stupid, and ignorant, and oblivious, to the real solution. …I-It's my fault that Grima still exists."

"Oh, Robin…" Chrom put his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Y-Yes I have!" she said, upset. _"I_ should have killed him. Th-Then, he would be dead, and I wouldn't have this—this fear, this fear in my gut, that—that—he'll return one day, and this awful cycle will repeat itself!" Tears brewed in her eyes. "Chrom, I screwed up! How many more people will die because of me?"

"Robin!" Chrom said—he took her by the shoulders, holding her at arm's length and staring her in the eyes seriously. "Stop thinking like that! There's no guarantee that you would've survived the process!"

"Since when has my life been more important than everyone else's?"

"Since _forever!"_ Chrom shouted. "I will never— _never!—_ let you go. I would have never allowed it." His eyes blazed with fiery determination. "Robin, our solution _worked!_ Grima is no longer a threat. And say, in a thousand years, he returns? Well, we'll just put him right back where he came from, now won't we? And again, and again. Grima could never defeat the light!"

Chrom lunged forward, kissing Robin intensely. She threw her arms around his neck, equally enthusiastic.

Eventually, Chrom pulled away. "…We still won, Robin. And this way, I got to keep you."

Robin smiled tearfully. "Geez, you know just the right things to do to cheer me up, don't you…?"

Chrom shrugged. "It comes with marriage, wouldn't you say?"

"Heh!"

* * *

Brady scowled. It was his normal expression, though, so no big deal. "Ay. Cynthia. Good news."

"What's up, Brademan?"

He clenched his teeth. "Never call me that again." He gestured with his staff. "Last session, bud. This should put the finishin' touches up, finally."

Cynthia's eyes widened. "You mean—I can finally take this stupid cast off?!"

"Yeah. Finally won't have to see this ugly mug anymore."

Cynthia eagerly unlaced her cast, dropping the wrappings to the ground. She pressed her aching left arm against her abdomen as Brady lifted his staff. He stared intently at her forearm.

The staff glowed. Cynthia closed her eyes.

After a moment, the light stopped. "…Alright, we're done."

Cynthia wiggled her newly-fixed arm, beaming. "Finally!" She kissed her arm, overjoyed—and winced at the odor. "Ech! That smells _awful!"_

Brady shrugged. "Casts, man."

"So, can I fight today?"

"I dunno. Probably. Ask yer sister." Brady turned away. "See ya."

"See ya." Cynthia clenched a fist, shivering with excitement. _Finally! I'm useful again!_

* * *

A rough shoulder knocked him to the ground. He winced in pain, staying down.

 _"Who are you?!"_ the voice demanded, and a sword was leveled at him.

He winced, raising a hand to shade his eyes. "My name is Leif Faris Claus," he said commandingly. "Prince of Leonster, and heir to the throne of Thracia!"

"Liar!" The radiant blade pressed against Leif's neck. "Tell me the truth!"

Leif's eyes moved down. "I…" He sighed. "…I am not the true Leif. I am an Einherjar, made in his likeness."

The golden sword returned to its wielder's scabbard. "Good." He offered a hand, and Leif took it, rising to his feet.

Leif rubbed his bruised shoulder, irritated. "Geez… What was that about, Seliph?"

Seliph stood straight, maintaining his ever-present regal bearing, even as an Einherjar. He smiled at his friend. "I'm sorry, Leif. I had to be sure that you hadn't lost your knowledge of what you—what _we—_ are."

"Seems like there was a better way to do it."

"Agree to disagree."

Leif sighed. "Anyway… It's good to see you, Seliph. It's been a long time."

"Indeed," Seliph said seriously. "And our meeting is not by chance."

"With you, it never is."

"Leif, listen to me," Seliph urged. "I have a plan. An important plan. And I need your help to enact it." He offered a hand. "Do I have your assistance?"

"Always," said Leif, accepting Seliph's hand without hesitation. "I would follow you until the end, old friend."

"Excellent," Seliph said proudly. "Now, do you know where we are?"

Leif looked around. "Is this… Verdane?"

"Right," said Seliph. "We are in an Outrealm similar to our homeland, Jugdral, but entirely devoid of its populace. _Except_ for one place: a castle to the east. Evans, to be specific." Seliph grinned. "Let's go meet our parents, Leif."

* * *

"Jungby Castle," Cynthia said, in awe of the building. "It's so— _mythical!"_

Severa rolled her eyes. "Oh, gawds. We should've known bringing Cynthia to her dream land was a bad idea."

"Hey! Jugdral's really cool!" Cynthia said grumpily. "Just because _you_ don't have a passion for anything historical doesn't mean I can't!"

"You are such a nerd," Severa muttered. "Why are you so cheerful, anyways? You know we're about to hit some combat, right?" She sighed irritably. _"More_ fighting. I'm so done with this."

It was Cynthia's turn to roll her eyes. "You say that every time, but you don't do jack. You know what, Severa? You're all talk."

"Sorry if I don't brag about every little thing I do," Severa retorted. "Unlike you, I let my actions speak for themselves. I complain about _other_ things."

"And complain you do," Cynthia said, nodding.

"Whatever." Severa dropped the conversation. _Stop feeding the kid,_ she thought. _I'm really wasting my breath on her…_

…

* * *

 ** _Lucina's future_**

"UGGGGGGGGHHHHH."

Severa leaned against the wall, scowling. She could see everything outside of the fort for a mile, and, surprise surprise, nothing was happening.

"I HATE guard duty," she muttered. "Why can't I be out fighting, like Brady and _his_ party?"

She spotted a silhouette appear in the distance. Her eyes narrowed. "And of all the people to be stuck here with…"

Cynthia waved, grinning from ear to ear as she flew closer atop her pegasus.

 _What a moronic—_ Severa frowned. _Wait. Did she LEAVE with a pegasus?_ She peered over the wall, eyeing the stables—and sure enough, there was Cynthia's steed, munching idly on a hay bale.

"HEY, SEVERA!" Cynthia shouted, and she alighted next to Severa on the wall.

Severa winced. "I can hear you just fine, thanks." She gestured at Cynthia's mount. "You found a pegasus in the wild? Didn't think there were many left."

"I know, right?!" Cynthia chattered. "Can't believe I found it!"

"I know, I know," Severa groaned. "You love pegasi. Great. What're we even gonna do with it?"

Cynthia's face fell. "Wh-What do you mean?"

"I _mean,_ we only have one Pegasus Knight among us, and that's you," said Severa. "And you already have your pegasus. This one's just gonna waste our feed."

Cynthia pouted. "You're not saying we should _release_ it?" She dismounted. "Severa, that's horrible! They've already been practically hunted to extinction by Grima's goons."

"'Goons'?" Severa muttered crossly. Cynthia's childish word choices constantly irked her. "Cynthia, it's just a horse with wings. It's not like it's someone who can actually help us out and fight and stuff." She walked closer to Cynthia, her eyes watching the beast with contempt. "I can't believe you'd actually—"

Severa froze.

Cynthia furrowed her eyebrows. She tried to follow Severa's gaze, but couldn't find anything out of the ordinary on the horse. "Um, Severa?"

"That harness," Severa whispered. "D-Did you put that on the pegasus?"

"Hm?" Cynthia looked at the beast. "Now that you mention it, it had that harness on when I found it. Didn't think anything of it, for some reason."

Severa would normally have had a sharp retort for Cynthia's absentmindedness, but she was distracted herself. She wrapped her hand around the grimy harness, staring at the faded logo—the insignia for the squadron this pegasus had once belonged to.

"So what's the deal?" Cynthia asked. "What're you staring at?"

"This pegasus," Severa whispered. "It was my mother's…"

…

* * *

 ** _Present day_**

"So we don't know anything about the group that just arrived?"

Quan shook his head. "Sorry, Sigurd. The pegasus sisters just returned from scouting, but they couldn't get too close to the enemy for fear of being spotted." He grimaced. "What they _did_ determine was that their force outnumbers ours by far. Palla estimated eighty combatants, to our twenty."

Sigurd scratched his chin, frowning. "Eighty… I wonder, do they come in peace?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Lyndis chimed in. "They're armed to the brim, and preparing for battle."

"Certainly we can come to a peaceful solution," said Sigurd. "They can't be brigands, with a force of that size. Surely they can see reason and back down without a fight."

An unfamiliar voice came from the doorway. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

Sigurd, Quan, Lyn, and Eliwood faced the two unfamiliar entrants to the conference room. Sigurd frowned at the blue-haired one—he looked so familiar, but—

Quan interrupted Sigurd's thoughts: "Who are you?" he asked harshly. His hand rested on his lance.

"At ease, Lord Quan," said the blue-haired boy, raising a peaceful hand. "We are your allies."

The brown-haired one stepped forward, staring Quan in the eyes. "You may not recognize me. I don't see how you would, to be honest—you've never met me as I am now."

Quan glared. "I'll ask again—who are you?"

"My name is Leif."

"And my name is Seliph."

Sigurd and Quan both recoiled. "Y-You're—!"

"It's true," said Leif. "We are your respective children."

"This may be hard to swallow, Father, but here's the truth. We are from the future." Seliph kept a composed expression as he lied to the room. "And we bear ill tidings."

"The invaders occupying Jungby," Leif began. "We must fight them if we have any hope of stopping what is to come."

Seliph couldn't resist a small grin. Leif had a way of twisting his words to still technically be true.

"And how are we to believe your assertion?" Eliwood posited. "You claim to have traveled through _time?"_

"I believe this will suffice as proof." Seliph moved to the center of the room and drew his sword. He gently placed the golden blade atop the table; as it left his grip, it lost its radiant shine.

Sigurd's breath caught, and he squeezed the sword's twin occupying his own scabbard. "The Tyrfing?! But how?"

Seliph placed his hand on the grip of the Tyrfing, demonstrating the blade's coming to life at his touch. "Only those with major Baldr holy blood may wield this sword," he stated. "That should be proof enough that I share your lineage, Father."

"A-And what of you?" Quan demanded, facing Leif. "Do you mean to tell me you've inherited the Gáe Bolg, as well?"

Leif smiled plainly. "I am afraid not, Father. My sister has that honor. All I have is this." He drew his sword, as well—the golden metal was unmistakably his mother's Light Brand.

Seeing Quan's expression morph into resigned belief, Leif sheathed his sword.

Lyn frowned. "Well, Sigurd? Quan? What do you say?"

Sigurd sighed. "…It pains me to say so, but it seems combat is unavoidable. I cannot distrust one of my own blood."

Seliph winced, briefly regretting his deception. _I'm doing what's right,_ he assured himself. "Thank you, Father. It pleases me to receive your trust."

"If Sigurd places his faith in you, then so do I," Eliwood said, grinning confidently. "Welcome to the fold, Seliph and Leif. If we do have to fight them, I'm glad we have your help."

Seliph smiled. "Of course. We are honored."

* * *

Severa flinched at the touch on her shoulder. "Gah!" Her exclamation made Cynthia jump as well.

The alternate Morgan chuckled, a little surprised at Severa's reaction. "Sorry, I actually didn't mean to startle you."

Severa crossed her arms, scowling. "Oh, good. _You're_ back."

Morgan beamed, in contrast. "Yep! We're fighting alongside you. Double the Shepherds, double the fun!"

"Your cheeriness is truly the most obnoxious thing ever."

"Oh, don't be like that. Severa, I think you and me, we'd make a _great_ team in combat."

"Remember what I said about pick-up lines, idiot?"

A grin slowly grew on Cynthia's face as she realized what was going on. "No. Way. You guys totally like each other!"

Severa whirled on Cynthia, her hatred manifesting as a dark glower. On the other hand, alt-Morgan seemed pleased.

Cynthia giggled, growing more and more pleased with the situation. "Don't worry, lovebirds. I'll leave you two alone."

She strutted away, leaving a fuming Severa to deal with alt-Morgan.

* * *

Cynthia frowned; she was glad alt-Morgan had given her a reason to walk off on her own, to think.

 _'I can't forgive you unless Robin does.'_

Her mood fell. _Great. This is just great._ She looked around, taking in the beautiful vistas of southern Jugdral. It didn't raise her spirits. _Severa's right. 'More fighting, ugh, I'm a bitter ice queen who's mean to everyone.' But yeah, the longer we waste our time here, the less likely it is we'll find Dad…_

Suddenly, her nose hurt—so she grunted, holding her smarting face. She quickly became aware of the reason why: Inigo stood in front of her, rubbing his similarly-smarting chest. She checked his hair color, and sure enough, it was the correct Inigo.

"Hey there," said Inigo bemusedly. "If I was a wall, that nose'd be broken! You all right, Cynthia?"

"Yeah." She dropped her hands. "What's up, Inigo?"

Inigo sighed. "So, the Outrealms are mystical and wonderful and everything—but there is one key problem!"

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "I bet I can guess. No girls?"

"Bingo! The villages are always empty, and there are no new faces to flirt with." He sighed again.

Cynthia brightened. "Well, what about the Einherjar? Surely one of them would be fine with a date."

Inigo's expression lit up. "Wha—Cynthia! That's _brilliant!"_ His mouth watered at the thought of tea with Mia. "I should start as soon as…" He trailed off.

Cynthia patted him on the shoulder. "Good for you, buddy. See ya." She walked past him.

"Nuh-uh." Inigo moved in front of Cynthia. "I owe you. Whaddya need, Cynthia? Anything?" He winked. "Cup of tea, perhaps?"

"Well, I—" She paused, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. "Wait… are you _flirting?_ With _me?"_

Inigo ran a hand through his hair, grinning. "That depends on your answer."

Cynthia's eyes narrowed. "…What's this about? You've never flirted with me before. I'm always the wingman."

"Ha! Impossible!" Inigo scoffed. "You speak to the master of flirting, yet claim he has missed a target?"

"Oh, boy. You know how girls just _love_ being called 'targets.'"

"Er—"

"Anyway, since I know you'd be all creepy about it, I'm gonna take a raincheck on that tea," said Cynthia dryly. "See ya."

"Now hold on," Inigo said. "If I can't offer you tea, allow me a different opportunity to thank you for your generous advice."

Cynthia crossed her arms, growing irritated. "Would you _stop?_ Come on, Inigo, we've known each other way too long for you to act like this around me."

Inigo's face fell. "…I guess you're right. Sorry, Cynthia. You just seemed to be upset, and I know how my flirtations cheer you up, so I thought I'd give them a try."

Cynthia blinked. "What? Really?"

Inigo nodded seriously. "Of course! I thought spreading my infectious cheer would help your mood."

"You know _why_ I find your flirting hilarious, right? …Like, 'ha ha, look at the fool Inigo is making out of himself'?"

Inigo pouted. "I didn't need to know _that_ much."

"Sorry." Cynthia breathed in. "Thanks anyway, Inigo. I guess the thought counts."

"If the thought counted, then I would never fail in picking up girls," Inigo said, oddly dead serious. "The thought does _not_ count, Cynthia. Allow me to do something meaningful and be a helpful ear. We've been friends for a very long time; I think you should be able to open up to me."

"Inigooo…" Cynthia groaned. _That'll show him._

"Cynthiaaa," Inigo rejoindered.

 _Dang!_ Cynthia crossed her arms. _He has a point with that one._

* * *

"No. I _refuse_ to keep calling you that."

Morgan's face fell. "Wh-What? How come?"

Severa huffed. "Because! 'Morgan' is taken. I'm not going to call you that."

"B-But it's my _name!"_

Severa closed an eye, smirking. "Hm! Does that make you mad?"

He sighed. "N… No…" He brightened. "Oh! Why not call me 'alt-Morgan' then? Pretty much everyone else is using that."

"Definitely not. That sounds horrible. I'm never gonna let that word cross my mouth."

"W-Well—Well—What're you going to call me, then?" He was growing distraught.

"I could just use 'Idiot' as your name, since I'm always calling you that anyway. Or 'Creep.'"

He looked down. "G-Geez, Severa… What do you want from me? What'd I do wrong?"

Severa scowled.

He looked up at her, and suddenly, an idea sprouted in his head. A tiny smile appeared on his face as he became more and more pleased with this idea. "What if… you called me Linfan instead?"

"What."

"Linfan," he repeated. "It's a name my mother almost gave me. It's from another language, and is gender-neutral like Morgan. Basically a linguistic equivalent." He grinned. "Yeah! Call me Linfan. Then it'll be easy to tell me apart from your Morgan!"

Severa's smugness disappeared. "Wh-Wh—You're not supposed to take it so easily!"

Morgan—Linfan—continued to grin. "Hey, I've always been a fan of 'Linfan.' I'd be happy to go by that! 'Morgan' was getting a little stale, anyway."

Severa's lips parted, as though about to speak, but she couldn't find appropriately venomous words.

…

* * *

 ** _Lucina's future_**

"I want you to know that I'm not happy about any of this," Severa muttered. She pulled the coarse brush through the pegasus' dirt-matted mane; if this horse had been in the wild for as long as Severa suspected, then this was its first brushing in years. "You're just inconveniencing me now."

She glared over her shoulder, at wherever Cynthia was inside the fort. "If it weren't for Cynthia's bleeding-heart rhetoric, you'd be back in the wild where you came from."

Severa resumed brushing, grimacing at the difficulty of the action. She tugged at the brush, trying to dislodge a particularly persistent clod of dirt.

She gritted her teeth and pulled—the brush was thoroughly stuck in there, now. She plucked some dirt out with her fingers, scowling, and gave the brush another tug.

She accidentally put too much force behind the pull, however; the dirt easily came loose, and the momentum knocked her onto her back.

"Ugh! Gods!" she hissed, climbing to her feet. She ran a hand through one of her now-dirt-covered red pigtails. "Stupid beast! Do you know how hard this is going to be to get out?!"

She turned on her heel and stormed back into the fort, throwing the brush on the ground.

* * *

Severa gestured with her fork, talking with her mouth half-full as she ranted. "…And what I don't get is, why was this damn pegasus so close to the Feroxi border anyways? Stupid creature!" She stabbed another piece of charred squirrel off of her plate and took a bite. "I hate it so much. It's such a dumb beast."

"Oh, come on," Cynthia said. "It's a pegasus! They're smarter than the average horse. Once you get close to it, I'm sure everything'll work out."

"I don't _want_ to get close to the stupid thing!" Severa snapped. "That's not my problem."

"B-But it belonged to Cordelia," Cynthia said sadly. "How can you say that about it?"

"Because I'm not my mother. I don't give a crap about stupid flying horses." Severa took another bite.

Cynthia frowned, hurt. "Hey, _I_ do! Where do you get off, Severa, insulting anyone and anything you ever meet?"

"If you love it so much, _you_ take care of it," Severa growled, her temper rising.

"I will not! That pegasus is _your_ inheritance—your mother's last heirloom!" Cynthia shouted, and she stood. "Gods, I've _had_ it with you, Severa! Take out whatever it is that's stuck up your rear, quit your whining, and take some responsibility for once in your life!"

Severa stood as well. "I'll do what I want! That pegasus is _not_ my responsibility, and I _refuse_ to take this crap from you!" She clenched her hands into fists. "I'm not my gods-damned mother, Cynthia! I would never, _ever,_ choose to be a Pegasus Knight!"

…

* * *

 ** _Present day_**

Chrom crossed his arms, watching the entrance to Evans Castle. A blue-haired man rode out atop a horse—unaccompanied, as agreed.

"I came alone," Chrom called as the horse drew closer. "We can talk this out."

"You are the leader of the enemy forces?"

"I am." Chrom nodded respectfully. "My name is Chrom. Are you Sigurd?"

"Yes." Sigurd's expression was grim, and his hand rested tensely atop that golden sword on his hip. (If Chrom didn't know any better, he would have confused the sword for Marth's Falchion.) "I ask that you withdraw your forces. I have no craving for bloodshed."

"Neither do I," Chrom replied. "I see that we share a desire for peace. If you come with us, we can resolve this with words."

Sigurd pursed his lips. "…I'm sorry, Sir Chrom, but I can do no such thing. Not with the orders I've received."

Chrom sighed. _Of course Algol would forbid them from surrendering without a fight._ _Why wouldn't he?_ "I see… I'm sorry it has to be this way, then."

"I do what I must to save my compatriots," Sigurd stated. "It's all I have ever done. You may outnumber us, but you cannot match our determination."

Chrom clenched his teeth. "…I won't let anyone die. Not a one. My side or yours."

Sigurd's eyes narrowed. _What is this? Is he serious? Seliph, you didn't warn me of his character._ "You'll have to put your money where your mouth is, Sir Chrom. We'll next meet on the battlefield."

"As you wish."

Chrom watched Sigurd's horse retreat to Evans. He let out a disgruntled sigh.

* * *

Inigo tapped his foot. "Well, Cynthia? Are you going to talk to me, or…?"

"I-I'm thinking, okay?" Cynthia bit her knuckle anxiously. "This isn't easy to say!"

Inigo crossed his arms, growing bored. His mind wandered to Mia… Oh, the cups of tea they would share…!

"It's about my mother, okay?"

Inigo blinked awake. "A-Ah! Right, yes. Your mother." He paused. "…What about her?"

"About how she's not _here?"_ Cynthia said. "About how she hates me? About how she thinks it's _my_ fault that Dad chose to sacrifice himself? About how, even after my dad f-finally came back—" She hesitated, covering her mouth. "…He… tried to kill _us,_ his family…"

Inigo frowned sadly, and tried to put an arm around her, but she shook him off.

"I-It all makes me so _angry!"_ Cynthia shouted. "After everything that's happened—all we've been through, all we've accomplished—it's never over! There's always some new _thing,_ some new _whatever_ that comes up and _ruins_ everything!" She folded her arms over her abdomen; her eyes watered. "It's not _fair,_ Inigo! Why can't it just _end?_ Why can't it just be, 'hey Cynthia, good work, here's your happy ending you've been working for since forever'?" She sniffed. "I _hate_ it! I hate _everything!_ I'm so _mad,_ I could—"

Inigo backed away from Cynthia's raised fists. "D-Don't take it out on me," he said. Slowly, he edged in, and pushed her hands down. "I understand, Cynthia. I get it."

"D-Do you?!" Cynthia shrieked, shaking him off for the second time. "Because, last I checked, _your_ parents are just fine, and they _loooove_ you!" Her voice was much angrier than her crying exterior showed. "I want to leave, Inigo! I just want to run away!"

Inigo's eyes widened in alarm. "C-Cynthia, you can't mean that!"

Cynthia nodded hastily. Her anger quickly faded. "Come with me," she pleaded. "Once I go get Morgan, then we can go, okay? We can walk away, just the three of us. C'mon. We've been best friends since we were kids."

"No," Inigo stated. "Absolutely not. I would never walk away, and neither will I let you do the same. Not when we're so close to the end."

"But we're _not!"_ Cynthia shouted. "Don't kid yourself, Inigo! There's _always_ something else. _Always_ something to tack on to the end of the story, something else to torture us!" She shook her head. "Somehow, this isn't going to be so simple. I just _know_ it. My bet's on this whole mission being a wild goose chase, like Laurent thinks."

Inigo blinked. "You agree with _Laurent?"_ His eyes narrowed. "…Is this… _pessimism?_ From… Cynthia?"

Inigo stepped closer; Cynthia furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. To Cynthia's surprise, Inigo reached up and pinched both of her cheeks, all the while wearing a deadly serious expression.

"MMPH! W-Whaddr you doin'?" Cynthia tried to pry his hands off of her face.

"Sorry, Cynthia," Inigo said, shrugging. "There's just no way that that's you under there. Show yourself, impostor!"

Cynthia pulled free from his grip. "Ow…! Geez, Inigo, what the heck? That hurt!"

Inigo winked, grinning. "Oh, c'mon, Cynth. You were just being so weird, I didn't have a choice."

Cynthia was so astonished, she couldn't help but laugh.

"Ha! I got a smile out of you," said Inigo proudly. "The Azure Crusader strikes again!"

Cynthia struggled to rein in her smile, but only succeeded in laughing harder. "I-I'm _serious!"_ she tried to say, but her credibility was nonexistent.

"Oh, I can tell," said Inigo, bobbing his head. "Those were very serious things you said. But since you'd be all depressing about it, I'm going to have to take a raincheck on abandoning everything we know and love." He smirked. "Believe it or not, Cynthia, I came from the same future as you. I've lost my parents just like you, and I also got them back, just like you. Difference is, you get to get them back _twice._ …I remember something you used to say pretty often, back in the day: 'Things work out because we Shepherds _make_ them work out!'" He offered his hand, grinning defiantly. "We _will_ find Robin, and we _will_ fix your relationship with your mother. It'll all work out—trust me!"

Cynthia wiped a lingering tear from her eye. "…We? Us?"

"You got it," Inigo proclaimed. "Count me in, partner!"

Cynthia slowly smiled, and took Inigo's hand. "…All right, partner. I trust in you."

"I'm mortified that you ever didn't." Inigo let her go. "Now! Do we have a battle soon, or what?"

"We do!" said Cynthia eagerly. "Can I count on you to watch my back?"

"Only if you watch mine."

* * *

Severa put extra effort into grinding the whetstone across her blade. _Of course I have to fight alongside Linfan. Stellar orders. Thanks, Morgan, for being a big, fat, tactical jerk!_

"You know," Linfan said, grinning, "your sword's gonna get sharp whet-er or not you do it that roughly."

Severa paused, mouth hanging open. The pun was so abysmally horrible that she had no choice but to grin at it. "Wh-What's _wrong_ with you?"

Linfan brightened. "What?! Is—Is that a _smile?_ Gods, is this still Severa sitting before me?" He laughed. "An actual, positive reaction!"

"Hey! I can be positive when people deserve it," Severa muttered. "Don't act so surprised, or you'll never see my beautiful smile again."

"Okay, okay," said Linfan cheerfully. "Sorry. I was so mean. I probably hurt your feelings, huh."

"You are _so_ full of it, Mor—" She bit her tongue. Disdainfully, she finished, _"…Linfan."_

"Sorry again. I've gotta stop _grinding_ out these jokes."

"Oh my gods, shut up!"

Linfan laughed. "Oh, Severa. Classic Severa. I'm looking forward to fighting with you."

Severa scowled. "…Alright, Linfan, don't you _dare_ take this the wrong way."

"Take _what_ the wrong—?"

"It's not… the _worst_ thing in the world that we're fighting together," she muttered, not meeting his eye. Noticing he was already brightening like a child receiving a toy, she hastily added, "And that's _only_ because you use tomes, okay? Mages complement fighters like me!"

It was all Linfan could do to not clap his hands with glee. "'Not the worst thing in the world!' That's Severa for 'I'm looking forward to this'!"

Severa's eyes narrowed. "Whatever. Drop it."

"Whatever you say, Severa!"

Severa went back to the grind. _Oh, gods, now I'm doing it._ She resumed sharpening her blade.

…

* * *

 ** _Lucina's future_**

Severa leaned against the stables' wall with her arms crossed, sourly watching the pegasus empty its trough of feed.

"Didn't you have a name?" Severa muttered. "Like, 'Aurora' or something…? Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was Aurora…"

She huffed, looking away. "Aaaand I'm talking to a horse. Again. Well, at least this is more fun than trying to get through Cynthia's thick skull…"

She glanced back at Aurora. "So you've really been in the wild for all this time, huh? You know, my mother died years ago. _Years._ You mean to tell me you've survived in the wild for that long?"

Aurora turned its head toward Severa. For a brief moment, Severa thought the pegasus was acknowledging her. _But of course it isn't. Smart or not, pegasi don't understand words._

"You must've been there when Mother bit it," said Severa. "What was that battle about, even? I can't remember. Something something Risen, something something Grima." She shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

The pegasus continued to stare at her. Severa grew into a scowl. "Whaddya want, an apple? Sorry to break the news, horse, but the sun was put out a long time ago. No more apples. Ever." She sighed. "Geez. I dunno how you could've survived out there when there's practically no wildlife left. What did you do, scavenge abandoned villages?"

Gradually, Severa's expression softened.

"…Doesn't matter. You're here now. Maybe someone'll want to reclass to a peg knight sometime, and they'll have use of you." She hesitantly reached for the pegasus; Aurora nudged her hand with its snout, allowing Severa to pet her.

Severa smiled slightly, gently patting Aurora's nose. "…Man, times have been tough, huh? I'm sure they'll look up, though. You're with the New Shepherds: the finest badasses left on Earth. …Granted, that's not saying much."

She glanced over her shoulder at the fort. "…Even Cynthia's not that bad, y'know? Heh, I guess you do, since you let her ride you. But yeah. She's capable." She sighed. "Maybe if she wasn't like a more annoying Morgan, we could even be friends." _…Not that I'd ever make THAT comparison to her face…_

Severa glanced back at Aurora. The faded insignia of her mother's squadron leapt out at her from the horse's old harness.

Her eyes narrowed.

* * *

Cynthia finally noticed Severa, and crossed her arms. "I don't suppose you've got an apology handy."

"Whatever, Cynthia. I need a favor."

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. "A _favor?"_

"Yes!" Severa huffed impatiently.

"And I'm supposed to help you… _without_ my apology?"

Severa ground her teeth. "…Trust me, Cynthia, it's bad enough that I'm asking you for help. You'll just _love_ lording over me during this."

Cynthia smirked. "All right, you've got my attention! Whaddya need?"

Severa took a breath. "Teach me… how to ride a pegasus."

* * *

It was exhilarating.

The wind in her hair, the ground so far away—Severa couldn't help but laugh with glee as Aurora took her to new heights.

Aurora tucked its wings and dived toward the ground; Severa grinned, leaning forward and feeling the rush of gravity.

Aurora spread its wings wide, catching the air, and swooped upwards, gliding over the barren forest.

Severa closed her eyes, smiling in content. _I wonder… If we go high enough…_

 _Could I see the sun again?_

"So how is it?" Cynthia's beast flapped its wings nearby; its rider grinned widely. "Pretty fun, right?"

Severa had no witty retort. No one-liner, no snark. She smiled, genuinely, and said, "This is amazing!"

Cynthia seemed ecstatic. "That's _wonderful!"_ She gestured downward. "Alright, let's land, okay? We shouldn't fly this high for too long."

Severa nodded and followed Cynthia's pegasus to the ground.

The two horses alighted in front of the fort. After guiding them into the stables, Cynthia and Severa dismounted.

Severa still grinned, running a hand through her hair. "Th-That was… incredible," she breathed.

Cynthia nodded rapidly. "I _know,_ right? Pegasi are so freaking rad!"

Severa nodded, watching Aurora fondly. "…should learn lances…"

"What was that?"

Severa shook her head quickly. "Nothing. I'm hungry, let's see if we can find some berries."

"Yeah, you're right." Cynthia turned away.

Severa glanced back at the two pegasi, a small smile on her face. "…Okay, Mother. Maybe I'll…. Maybe I'll _consider_ it. Okay? Your pegasus needs a rider."

Severa turned away and followed Cynthia. Her chest was warmed in a way that it hadn't been in a very, very long time.

…

* * *

 ** _Present day_**

Chrom stepped in Jungby Castle's conference room, meaning Morgan could finally start breathing again. _Thank the gods,_ she thought irritably, shooting a glance aside at the overly-doting alternate female version of her father standing nearby. (What a sentence.)

Morgan cleared her throat. "So, ah, how'd it go?"

Chrom sighed. "Looks like combat's unavoidable. Sigurd wouldn't listen."

"I'm wondering if Old Hubba was right about them always finding an excuse to fight," Morgan mused, tapping her chin.

"Maybe it's a byproduct of them having to follow orders," Robin added. "Think of it like actors on a stage. They've got to stay in-character no matter what, where 'what' in this case is that they also have to side with the bad guys—something they'd never do of their own accord. So, they find a way to justify to themselves that their side is in the right, whatever it takes to fulfill the mission they were given."

Morgan frowned. "You might be right. After all, Celica only realized she was on the wrong side _after_ we beat her. And when they're beaten, they change masters, so she didn't have to 'play along' anymore."

"…That all makes _sense,"_ Chrom began slowly, "but… remember Marth. He was capable of disobeying an order. That changes everything, right? If they don't have to obey, then they don't have to do all that stuff you said. They have a choice."

"You have a point," Morgan noted. "But we don't know everything about what happened with him. There could've been unknown, extenuating circumstances. Some technicality or loophole he was able to abuse, maybe." She nodded at Robin. "It seems like Robin's idea holds some weight."

 _'Robin'?_ Robin thought. It surprised her to hear her actual name come from Morgan's mouth, rather than 'Mother' or 'Mom.'

She sighed. _I guess I'm_ not _her mother, in the end. And the cold shoulder she's been giving me definitely reinforces that._ She frowned, watching Morgan's beautiful expression… the light in her eyes that only tactics could bring out of her.

It pained her that this Morgan was not also hers.

 _Is that selfish? I have Lucina, and my own Morgan. I shouldn't be so upset by this…_

"…What do you think, Robin?"

Robin blinked awake. "I-I'm sorry, I zoned out there for a bit."

"The bridge," Chrom repeated. "There's a river separating us from Evans, and the bridge over it is retractable. Seems like we could lure most of them across the bridge, then raise the bridge to split them up."

"Ahem. That sounds solid."

"Doesn't it seem a little overkill?" Morgan asked. "After all, we almost outnumber them four-to-one. We've faced much, MUCH worse odds with more straightforward battles, with equally nonexistent casualties."

"We can't take the risk," Robin stated. "Unlike us, the enemy is not holding back. They're out for blood. If we have an opportunity, any at all, to decrease the odds of losing anyone, then we have to take it."

Morgan paused. That serious look in alternate-Robin's eyes gave Morgan the impression that Robin was speaking from experience. _Have they lost people before…?_

…Yes, they had. Morgan could tell. That was the same look that her father always used to have whenever the subject of the war with Plegia came up.

 _'Even one casualty means we've lost.'_

"You're right," Morgan said. "We'll do the bridge thing… Mother."

A lightning sensation shot through Robin's spine, eliciting a smile. "Morgan…"

Morgan smiled back.

Chrom cleared his throat. Apparently, some sort of emotional thing was going down between the two of them, and he had no idea what it was. "…Sounds like a plan," he said, clapping his hands together and ruining the moment. "Let's get things going, Morgan."

"S-Sure thing, Captain."

* * *

Alt-Robin squinted, frowning at the distant force approaching from the west. "So that's them, huh? Those are the Einherjar."

Morgan took a bite out of her apple. "Myup. Shuper cool, righth?" She swallowed. "They're all warriors of legend, all twenty of 'em. Kinda can't wait for the fight." She took another bite, smaller this time in case she needed to speak.

"Very interesting. They're so lifelike! And they're all summoned from cards?" She shook her head. "It's hard to believe, to be honest."

Morgan shrugged. "In a world with dragons, time travel, and easy breezy amnesiacs appearing every other day, it's hard for me to question these things anymore."

"Point Morgan." Robin nodded at the enemy. "They're about to cross the bridge. How's this going to work?"

"Simple." Morgan held up her apple. "Pretend this is the bridge."

Robin frowned. "Okay…"

Morgan threw the apple on the ground, and dug her heel into the fruit. She gave it a few more stomps for good measure. "And _that…"_ she began, staring down at the mashed remains of her snack, "is Laurent's Bolganone." She grinned. "It's a fragile bridge."

"I thought the bridge was retractable?"

"Turns out I was wrong. This is more fun anyway, right?"

Robin chuckled. "What a Morgan answer."

Slowly, Morgan's face fell. "…Is it also Morgan-ish to throw my snack on the ground?" She gazed longingly down at the remains of her apple. "Man…"

* * *

Sigurd rose to his feet, having been thrown from his horse. He looked around, dazed, before noticing the fading column of fire that had erupted behind him. The bridge was in shambles, and most of the rest of his army still remained on the other side of the rampaging river.

Sigurd's hand tightened around Tyrfing. _We're separated!_ He looked around, counting heads. _…But we're still all in one piece._

He faced forward, watching the enemy approaching from Jungby. "…We can make this work," he murmured. "We have to."

* * *

The pegasus sisters came first.

"Inigo!" Cynthia called over her shoulder. "Hop on!"

"Right!"

Cynthia's pegasus took to the skies, and as she looked around, Cynthia noticed Cordelia and Cherche on her flanks.

She turned her eyes ahead. "Alright," she murmured to herself. She gripped the reins tightly with her left hand, stretching her newly-mended arm. "You've got this, Cynthia."

* * *

Severa powered her sword at Lyn, who deflected the blow with one katana. Lyn swung her other katana at Severa's neck, but Severa ducked under the attack.

Severa hopped back. Lyn twirled her two swords, eyeing her opponent warily.

Severa glanced over her shoulder. "Linfan, are you gonna do something, or should I just fight her myself?"

"Patience, Sev. I'll jump in when you need me."

Severa rolled her eyes. "Fine!" She gritted her teeth and charged back at Lyn.

* * *

"Cynthia, what's that formation?" Inigo asked, leaning forward and pointing over the pegasus's head.

Cynthia pushed him back. "I can see them just fine without all the shoving." She glanced back at the enemy pegasi. "They're sticking really close together, huh?"

"Yeah." Inigo gripped his sword anxiously. _Don't look down._ "How come?"

"I think—"

One of the enemy Pegasus Knights interrupted her train of thought: "Catria! Est! Are you ready?"

"Ready, Palla!"

Their three lances trained on Cherche. Palla took the lead, and she shouted, _"Triangle Attack!"_

Catria and Est swooped low, while Palla aimed high. The three Falcoknights converged on Cherche with blinding speed.

Cherche's mount jerked to the side, dodging Est's lance, and Cherche defended herself from Palla with her axe, but the third enemy, Catria, struck home. The lance pierced Minerva's scales, causing the wyvern to cry out in pain.

"Cherche!" Cordelia shouted, and she and Cynthia flew in to intervene.

Palla, Catria, and Est turned to face their new foes, while Cherche guided her wounded mount to the ground, defeated. The pegasus sisters hovered in place and raised their lances to form a phalanx.

Cynthia and Cordelia kept their space, unwilling to fly straight into the wall of steel.

Frustrated, Cynthia's grip tightened around her lance. "C'mon," she muttered to herself. "Lemme through…"

"Cynthia," Cordelia called, catching her attention. Cordelia made a series of small hand gestures.

Cynthia nodded. "Right!"

Inigo looked between the two Falcoknights, confused. "What? What's right?"

"Hold on, Inigo! You'll see!"

Inigo gulped, wrapping his arms tightly around Cynthia's waist. "I-If you say so."

Cordelia's pegasus, Aurora, darted upwards, drawing two of the enemy lances with her. Palla, however, kept her eyes (and lance) on Cynthia.

Cynthia angled her pegasus low, swiftly gaining speed from the nosedive. Inigo closed his eyes for fear of vomiting.

Cynthia turned upwards, raising her lance as she encroached on the pegasus sisters from below. "Inigo, I need you!"

"R-Right!" Inigo forced his eyes open, and was immediately struck by vertigo at the sight of the three pegasus underbellies above him.

"This is something crazy, but I need you to follow my lead, okay?" Cynthia shouted over the wind.

"What? What does _that_ mean?!"

"You'll know! I hope!"

Cynthia squinted, keeping her eyes on Palla's lance. She tightly gripped her lance with her healed arm. "You've got this," she murmured to herself.

Her lance rose upwards, meeting Palla's nearly dead-on. The two blades skimmed across each other before the superior momentum behind Cynthia's deflected Palla's lance away.

"Nngh!" Cynthia grunted, nearly losing her grip on her lance. "Inigo, now!"

Cynthia's pegasus shot up between Palla's and Catria's; for a brief moment, Inigo found himself hovering mere feet over Palla's pegasus, as though floating.

Inigo's heart fell as he realized what Cynthia had meant. _You've got to be kidding._

But she wasn't, of course. Inigo took the moment he had to steel himself; breathing in, he released Cynthia, falling onto Palla's pegasus.

The phalanx was broken, and Palla's pegasus bucked in an attempt to dislodge Inigo. Palla, herself, with a look of panic on her face, tried shoving Inigo with her lance, but was in a poor position to do so.

Inigo held tightly onto the pegasus's rump for dear life, praying to the gods and cursing Cynthia and lamenting all the women with whom he had yet to flirt. The pegasus gave him a glancing kick to the leg, making him realize he couldn't exactly stay in that position. _Also: OUCH!_

Inigo timed between buckings of the horse, before throwing his weight forward to gain better footing on the pegasus. He mistimed it, however—not exactly an expert on midair situations like this—and launched forward with more velocity than he had intended.

"Oof!" His face smarted from a definitely metal impact. _Ow, ow, ow!_ He blindly scrambled for a handhold, feeling his balance worsening.

"Wha—Wha!" Palla cried, redness flooding her cheeks. "H-Hands off!"

Inigo didn't need his vision to know the all-too-familiar feeling of what he had grabbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he stammered reflexively, prying his face off of the back of her armor.

"What?!" Palla struggled against him. "If you're so sorry, then let go!"

The pegasus bucked again, startling Inigo into gripping tighter. _If I didn't have a fear of heights before, I have one now!_

Inigo squeezed his sword tightly. He couldn't believe he still had hold of it after all this. "I-I'm sorry, milady, but we're enemies! I can't be nice right now!" He raised the sword into her field of view. "Pl-Please land, and surrender, or I'll—uh—hurt your pegasus!" He coughed. "I mean uh, kill it! Yes!"

"I'm prepared to die if I have to!" Palla snarled. "I am loyal to Lady Minerva to the end!"

Inigo rolled his eyes. "I don't see any Minervas around here besides the one you guys nearly killed," he muttered. "Look, we're not bad guys! I don't want to kill you. Okay? If you all surrender, we can resolve this without bloodshed."

Palla hesitated. Everything in her was crying to kill this man as long as he had such a firm grip on her—

But she had to think of the bigger picture. What would Est or Catria do without her? And—if this pervert was telling the truth, and they had no malicious intentions, then…

"V-Very well," Palla said reluctantly. "On one condition. _Let. Me. Go."_

Inigo grinned. "Yes ma'am!"

He let out a relieved breath, looking around. The other two pegasus sisters had been routed, and Cynthia pulled her pegasus even with Palla's as she escorted Catria down.

"You did it! Nice one, Inigo!" Cynthia bubbled. "Knew I could count on you!"

Inigo winked. "Told you we'd make a great team. Now… how about that cup of tea?"

Cynthia laughed; Inigo joined in soon after.

Palla fumed. … _He still hasn't let go._

* * *

Lyn sliced both of her swords horizontally, staggering Severa; in the brief moment that she was looking up, Severa saw the enemy pegasi descending to the ground, evidently defeated.

Severa grimaced. _I am NOT going to be outdone by freaking CYNTHIA!_

She regained her balance, glaring at Lyn angrily. "Alright, you filthy piece of Einherjar garbage," she growled. "It's REALLY go time now!"

"What did you call me?" Lyn asked, genuinely surprised. But, confused as she was about the meaning behind the words, Lyn's pride flared at Severa's impudent tone.

Severa dashed forward, swiping at Lyn aggressively. Lyn glided Severa's sword along her Mani Katti, directing the silver sword into the dirt. Lyn placed her boot atop Severa's blade, further lodging it in, and readied Sol Katti for a killing blow.

Linfan tensed. _Now!_ He raised his free hand, and a blast of Thoron shot forth.

Lyn raised the Sol Katti in self-defense, having nearly forgotten about Linfan. The magic resistance of the legendary katana cushioned the blow, but the powerful Thunder magic was still enough to push her away from Severa.

Glaring at Lyn, Severa planted her foot, twisted, and dislodged her sword from the dirt with a powerful tug. Using this momentum, Severa spun, guiding the silver weapon directly at Lyn.

Lyn blocked with both of her swords, but the heavy strike threw her footing off. Linfan followed through with another blast of Thoron, from which Lyn again protected herself with Sol Katti.

Lyn winced, realizing she was losing. She took a last-ditch effort at aggression, stabbing at Severa with both of her swords. Severa parried one, but the other cut a line across her arm.

Severa didn't even seem to care. Adrenaline pumping through her, she instigated her own offense.

Linfan charged forward as well, wielding a bolt of lightning in his palm. He occupied one of Lyn's swords with a weak spark. Severa wrestled blow-for-blow against Lyn's other weapon, eager bloodlust in her eyes as she searched for that one elusive hit on the swordmaster.

Lyn found herself beset by both of the future children. She'd never seen cooperation like this—their attacks flowed together like the wind, perfectly synergized. They were never in each other's way, and they never let an opening go. Always there was a weapon hounding Lyn.

 _Is pairing up the way to go?_ Lyn thought. Desperation began to take hold of her. _Mark, what I would give for your guidance right now!_

All it took was one slip-up: Lyn expected an attack from Linfan, and shifted her weight accordingly, but Severa attacked instead. Lyn's swords were knocked out of position, she fell to a knee, and Linfan dived in for the finish.

Lyn grunted, putting all her strength behind deflecting Linfan's bolt; the lightning altered course into the ground next to her.

She gasped for breath, realizing the effort had been for nothing as Severa's attack came next. The first slash disarmed Lyn; the second, a swift, horizontal strike aimed at Lyn's neck.

Severa's sword halted just before its target. It silently aligned with Lyn's throat, signaling her defeat.

Severa lowered her sword, and she planted her boot in Lyn's stomach, knocking the lord onto her back. "And stay down," Severa spat. "Be thankful I didn't kill you."

Severa sheathed her weapon, trying to hide that she was out of breath. Looking around, she saw most of the rest of the battle was wrapping up; even Sigurd's units from the other side of the river had been routed. Cynthia's pegasus alighted nearby, and she and Inigo dismounted; several other Shepherds from both timelines milled about, a positive atmosphere encompassing the victorious congregation.

"Hey," Severa said absently, "Linfan. You didn't do _too_ bad—" She turned to face him, trailing off. Linfan wore the strangest smile. "…Uh, Linfan?"

Linfan walked closer, still grinning.

Severa took a hesitant step back. "Linfan? What are you—?"

Linfan reached for her, cupping her cheeks in his hands. Slowly, amused at her flabbergasted expression, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips against hers.

Severa's eyes widened, a bright red rising to her cheeks at the novel taste.

…

* * *

 ** _Lucina's future_**

"Practically fine dining," Severa snarked. She held a shriveled berry up to the candlelight, inspecting the meager fruit with disdain.

Cynthia shrugged. "We take what we can get, Severa. At least we _found_ food today."

"I know, I know," Severa muttered. "I don't need you to tell me how much our lives suck."

"Anyway!" Cynthia said, eager to change the subject. "Later, do you want to groom our pegasi on the roof together?"

"Why the roof?"

"Because it's so high up," Cynthia responded cheerfully. "Pegasi _love_ altitude. My Belfast is already up top and waiting; you can go grab Aurora from the stables once we're done eating."

Severa shrugged. "Sure." She kept her excitement hidden.

Cynthia smiled. "…Y'know, Severa, I'm really glad Aurora found us."

"What? Why?"

"Because she really brought us together, I think," Cynthia said. "I don't think it's a secret that we've never gotten along before." She shrank a little, embarrassed. "Now, it… it seems like we could actually be friends."

Severa stared down at her food, heat rising to her face. "…Wh… Whatever. If you _want."_

Cynthia giggled.

Her laughter suddenly cut short, and her face fell.

Severa frowned. "…What?"

"Did you hear that?" Cynthia turned towards the fort's main entrance. "Listen!"

Severa strained her ears. "Sounds like…" She hesitated. "…Knocking?"

"Knocking?" Cynthia echoed. She stood from the table, and Severa slowly followed suit. "I wonder if…"

Cynthia started walking towards the door; Severa trailed just behind.

"Are Lucina and company back already?" Severa asked. "No way."

Cynthia grinned at Severa. "I wouldn't count her out. She's done impossibler."

"That's not a word, Cynthia…"

Severa paused, crossing her arms, as Cynthia went to answer the door. _Why would Lucina be back from the Feroxi capital already?_ she thought. _Did something go wrong…?_

Cynthia wore a wide grin, throwing the door open. "Back al—"

Cynthia and Severa both tensed in horror.

A legion of Revenants stood outside, their eyes lighting a malefic scarlet as they noticed the fort's two inhabitants.

"Ri—Ri—" Cynthia stammered. She scrambled away from the door. _"Risen,_ Severa!"

"Gods dammit!" Severa shouted, drawing her sword. "How did they—? Pick up your lance, Cynthia!"

"I _am!"_

The horde of Risen began to lumber through the fort's doors, their undead moaning reaching a deafening pitch in its echo through the hall.

Severa watched the first Revenant approach, holding her sword at the ready. As it drew near, it swiped a fetid claw at her; she ducked under the predictable attack and slashed the Risen across the midsection, destroying the monster.

Lance in hand, Cynthia moved forward to stand next to Severa, making short work of the second Risen. Then another, then another.

Severa cut another beast down. She grimaced, watching more and more pile through the door; they soon would have enough in here to surround the two lone Shepherds. "We need to funnel them through the hallways," she said. "Pick 'em off one by one!"

Cynthia nodded. "Right!" She and Severa slowly retreated, not turning their backs to the Risen.

* * *

Severa planted her boot in the Revenant's chest, kicking it over. She buried her sword into the grounded monster's chest, taking satisfaction in watching the monster disappear into purple smoke.

She stood, wiping her brow. "Was that the last one?"

"I think so," Cynthia replied. She futilely attempted to brush off the purple miasma coating her lance. She sighed, relieved. "That could've been bad."

"Could've," Severa said slowly. Something nagged at her. What was it?

"Are you hurt?"

"No. You?"

"Nah." Cynthia wiped her brow as well, smearing miasma across her forehead. "Man… I'm just glad those things can't fly. Belfast was nice and safe up on the—" She froze.

Severa froze as well. A jolting dread shot through her spine.

"Severa, I—" But Severa dashed away without a word; after missing a beat, Cynthia chased after her. "S-Severa!"

* * *

Severa slowed down, her hand rising to cover her mouth. Her eyes were fixed to the scene, as much as she wanted to look away.

Slowly, the last Revenant of the battle looked up from its meal. It gradually stood, giblets of meat still dripping from its wide maw.

 _They don't hunger. They don't need to. They're just monsters, constructs._

Severa's hand clenched into a fist. The other raised her sword.

The Risen sluggishly lumbered toward Severa.

 _Grima, you bastard! This is just cruelty! You could've just killed it! This wasn't NECESSARY!_

Severa roared with hatred and slashed the mindless Risen in two.

She fell to her knees from the exertion, watching the monster's remains billow into the wind.

Tears ran from her eyes as she gasped for air. She couldn't look.

But she couldn't _not_ look. She had to see.

Severa slowly looked, taking in the visceral sight of the dying pegasus.

Aurora wheezed feebly, its legs twitching. Its white mane was stained red; its pearly wings, broken.

Severa's sword fell from her hands. She doubled over, wrapping her arms around her abdomen and crying out in agony.

"I'm s-sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry…!"

She sniffed, trembling violently, and slowly reached for her sword.

"I'm _sorry!"_ she repeated, shouting now. She stood on wobbling legs, slowly forcing herself to approach Aurora.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, still shaking, and aimed the sword at the beast's head.

Aurora's breathing slowed to an even pace; its eyes watched Severa peacefully, as if anticipating her coming mercy.

Severa continued to shake. She closed her eyes, screamed, and plunged the sword downward.

The wet sound of iron through flesh, followed by silence, let Severa know her effort was a success.

Severa pressed her forehead against the pommel of the sword, squeezed her eyes shut, and began to cry uncontrollably.

She knelt in that repose for a long time. Several moments passed before the only other onlooker arrived.

Cynthia slowly approached, flinching at the gruesome sight. She crossed her arms uncomfortably. "Severa…"

"What?!" Severa snapped, facing Cynthia. Her eyes and face were dark red. "What do you _want?!"_

"This is all my fault," Cynthia said. "I shouldn't have flown so much… they must've seen us, and…"

 _"Your_ fault?!" Severa shouted, standing. "This was _you?!"_

Cynthia flinched. "S-Severa, I—"

"No! _Shut up!"_ Severa snarled. "I've had it with you, Cynthia! I—HATE—YOU! And I am done! _We_ are done!"

She stormed past Cynthia, roughly bumping her shoulder as she passed. Cynthia rubbed her smarting shoulder, sadly watching Severa go.

Cynthia turned back to Aurora's corpse. She gingerly stepped closer and retrieved the bloodied sword from its… resting place. One last glance at what remained of Cordelia's last heirloom, and Cynthia slowly trudged back to the fort.

…

* * *

 ** _Present day_**

Severa roughly shoved Linfan off of her.

Linfan staggered a few steps away, rubbing his smarting shoulder. His lips still tingled from the kiss. "Heh… Guess I should've expected—"

What he didn't expect was the punch, arriving immediately and square in the jaw.

Linfan fell to a knee, his head ringing. Blood ran from his busted lip. He was too surprised to process what just happened.

Severa didn't miss a beat, throwing another punch into Linfan's nose. She crouched over the now-prone Linfan and punched him twice more in the face; the anger and hurt in her expression was such that Linfan had never seen.

Severa reared back for another hate-filled punch, but an arm grabbed hers, restraining her. More arms held her back, pulling her off of the grounded Linfan.

"Idiot! Violator! Human waste!" Severa shrieked, fighting against her restraints. Linfan slowly climbed to his feet, holding his broken nose; a few others helped him stand. One eye was shut, a trickle of blood running down from his eyebrow.

Severa stopped fighting, and the hands gradually let her go. She jabbed a pointer finger in Linfan's face. "If I ever—EVER see you again, I'm going to kill you," she snarled. "Don't test me. Next time we meet, you're dead. I am _not_ joking."

Severa turned and stormed away. She tried hard, harder than she had ever tried before, to hide the tears running from her eyes.

* * *

Inigo scratched his head, watching Severa leave. _Geez… Glad I didn't try that on Cynthia._

* * *

Cynthia sighed, watching Severa leave. _Man… I wish Inigo had tried that on me._

* * *

"Well, Lord Chrom… it seems you've delivered."

Sigurd, nursing a bruised cheekbone, offered Chrom a smile and a hand. Chrom shook.

"Not a single casualty, and still we stand here defeated." Sigurd shook his head. "Incomprehensible."

Chrom shrugged. "I'm a man of my word, Lord Sigurd. Do I have your surrender?"

"Of course. I can't help but entertain the idea that I was fighting for the wrong side."

Chrom chuckled. "You don't know the half of it. I'll explain everything when we get back to the mansion."

"Very well." Sigurd inclined his head. "I shall take my leave, then."

"Of course." Chrom watched Sigurd head into the mass of Shepherds and Einherjar. _What a crew._

"Ah! Lord Chrom, was it?"

Chrom turned to the unfamiliar face, and shook the man's hand regardless. "Um, yeah… Who are you?"

"My name is Seliph," he replied, smiling. "Lord Sigurd's son. Commendable work today, sir—you have my admiration."

Chrom frowned. "I don't recall seeing you during the battle…"

"Is that so? Well, I assure you, I certainly participated." Seliph's cool smile was unbroken. "I was defeated by, ah… the one with the oddly-colored hair."

"Odd color hair, huh?" Chrom said dryly. "That really narrows it down."

Seliph shrugged. "I apologize." He half-bowed. "I look forward to our working together."

"Of course," Chrom murmured. He watched Seliph leave, a skeptical tingle running up Chrom's spine. "Something's… off about him."

* * *

Emmeryn hurried forward and tapped Robin on the shoulder. Robin turned around, surprised. "Y-Yes, Exalt Emmeryn?"

Emmeryn smiled. "Please: just Emmeryn. I've never been Exalt."

Robin smiled as well. "As you wish. What's the matter?"

Emmeryn reached into her satchel and produced an old, leather-bound journal. If Robin squinted, she could make out a "J" on the journal's spine.

Emmeryn tore a text-filled page out of the journal and offered it to Robin.

Robin accepted the page, squinting to read the small text. "'Plegia's desert'… 'Plegia Harbor'… 'Either the pirate ship of Captain Dobus, or at home with Martin the Merchant'… 'if with Dobus, then…'" She trailed off. Turning the page over, she found it was equally full of text. "Is this a list of _every place_ you went to before reuniting with the other Shepherds?"

Emmeryn shook her head. "No, this is a list of every place I _could've_ gone… _And_ every place I did go to. Covering every base… for when you look for me."

Robin broke into a wide smile, folding the parchment and tucking it into a pocket close to her heart. "L-Lady Emmeryn, you don't know what this means to me…"

"I do," Emmeryn replied peacefully. "I very much do. …Good luck, Robin."

* * *

Chrom sighed, facing the door to the mansion. The last of his Shepherds had gone inside with the Einherjar in tow, and the alternate Shepherds had nearly all returned to their camp.

He turned around, facing the alternate Chrom and Robin. "So. How's Morgan doing?"

Robin sighed. "He'll be fine… his heart seems more bruised than his face, but he'll recover."

"I'm sorry to hear about that," Chrom replied. "It's unacceptable behavior from a Shepherd, what Severa did."

Alt-Chrom waved it away, forcing a smile. "Listen. Let's not get too down, okay? We have our futures ahead of us. Let's not waste this time moping."

Chrom sighed. "You're right, me."

"We're going to return to our homeland," Robin said. "Your Emmeryn gave us a map and directions. We're going to use it to find our Emmeryn and bring her home."

Chrom's heart warmed. "…I see. Then I guess this is where we part ways." He shook hands with the other Chrom, then with Robin. "I wish you the best of luck."

"Likewise," said alt-Chrom. "If you find your Robin, tell him: 'your alternate self is more attractive.'"

The three shared a laugh.

"Will do," Chrom chuckled. "Along with the requisite 'better places to take a nap' thing."

"Right, right." Alt-Chrom waved. "Farewell! We'll be back eventually, I promise."

"Definitely," Robin added.

Chrom waved back, smiling. "Farewell," he replied.

Warmness spread through him. A similar determination welled in his heart to the one he had felt before entering the Outrealms: a determination to end the Einherjar War, and to find Robin.

"Wait for us," he echoed.

* * *

Severa crossed her arms, not meeting the eye of the person across the desk from her. "I'm not in the wrong," she muttered. "He violated—"

"I don't want to hear it." Cordelia leaned forward, staring Severa intensely in the eyes. "Severa. We need to talk."

* * *

Robin closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh Ylisse air. "Home sweet—" She froze. "Dammit!"

Chrom frowned. "What is it, Robin?"

"Chrom, I didn't see Tiki with them," Robin said urgently.

Chrom glanced down at his sword. "You're right. They're probably still fighting Outrealm Sickness, huh?"

Robin nodded. "Should we go back?"

"…I don't think so." Chrom's expression was set determinedly. "We're home already. We shouldn't waste a moment in our search for Emm."

"But Chrom—"

"They'll be fine," Chrom reassured her. "They'll find the solution on their own. If _we_ could, then they _definitely_ could—hell, they're better survivalists than we are, apparently."

Robin chuckled. "Heh… All right, all right, you've got me." She smiled. "Let's go find your sister."

"Right."

The alternate Shepherds mobilized, with Chrom and Robin at the helm. They had a long search ahead of them.

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 7 – **The Lost Bloodlines**_


	7. The Lost Bloodlines

Chapter 7: **The Lost Bloodlines**

* * *

Chrom surveyed the uneasy crowd of Einherjar filling the conference room. "I hope you all can find it in yourselves to understand."

"Einherjar…" Eliwood murmured. "…So that is the truth."

"What a far-fetched tale," Lyn added. "It makes… _certain_ things clear, I will admit, but there must be a more logical explanation!"

"So Algol is the true villain?" Quan asked. "We were all manipulated by that man?"

Leif, leaning against the back wall, shifted uncomfortably. He shot a glance at Seliph, hoping to meet his eye, but Seliph's attention to Chrom was rapt. Leif crossed his arms, and looked down at his feet.

* * *

Severa played with the bandage on her arm. The cut Lyn had given her stung a little bit, but it _definitely_ itched.

Cordelia clasped her hands, frustration growing in her at Severa's refusal to meet her eye. _"Severa."_

"What."

Cordelia had yet to get used to Severa's constantly impudent tone. "Severa, I'm concerned."

"For Linfan? He's fine. Little Heal staff and he'll be good as new."

"I'm concerned about _you,_ Severa."

Severa snorted. "My knuckles are fine, thanks. I washed his blood off of them already."

Cordelia closed her eyes, taking a long, calming breath. "…Why do you feel the need to distance yourself from me, Severa? I'm your mother."

"No you're not. My mother's dead."

"That's not true and you know it. I _am_ Cordelia; I am no fake."

Severa rolled her eyes.

"Severa, what Linfan did was, admittedly, over the line, but certainly not enough to warrant such a reaction from you," Cordelia said soothingly. "Something else is at play here. Something else is bothering you. I'm going to get to the bottom of it, because you are my _daughter,_ Severa."

"Oh, so _now_ you care about all this," Severa muttered. "Never came up before, but now you're all 'oh man, better talk to Severa, oh geez.' It's not like I'm going to snap like that again, _'Mother.'_ I don't need this lecture."

"What are you going on about?" Cordelia's voice and temper rose. "'Never came up before'? Severa, we have _never spoken!_ EVER! Since you joined the party over a year ago, we have never, not once, sat down and had a conversation as mother and daughter. You always kept me at arm's length, speaking in curt, one-word responses. Well, Severa, I am sick of it. From now on, we are going to act like we should and _talk to each other."_ She leaned forward, looking earnestly into Severa's eyes. "Please, Severa. Don't be distant to me. I want to be a part of your life. Please."

Severa still looked away. After a pause, she shrugged quietly.

Cordelia sighed, leaning back. "…Okay. Now, Severa… Open up to me. Please."

"Ha! 'Please'? What am I, a door? 'Open Sesame, Severa! Tell me all your deep dark secrets!'" She laughed. "Give me a break."

Cordelia was not deterred. "You can talk to me, Severa, I promise. I would never judge you."

Severa's expression grew sullen once again, and she sat back, crossing her arms. "Of course you wouldn't. You're probably perfect at counseling, too."

Cordelia frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Severa glanced up at Cordelia, still surly. "You're the best at everything, Mother. Flying. Logistics. Memory. Talented at anything you want to do." Her eyes flicked downwards. "Of course you'd be so nice to me even though I'm always so mean."

Cordelia watched Severa quietly for a moment, composing and discarding several topics in her head. If there was one thing she knew, it was that her words had to be carefully chosen in front of Severa.

"…Is it… my fault?" Cordelia began uncertainly.

"Nothing is _ever_ your fault, Mother."

"And that is what bothers you," Cordelia mused. "Do you think that you're living in my shadow?"

"I don't _think_ that at all," Severa hissed. "I _know_ it. Before you died, all I would ever hear was 'you're Cordelia's daughter, how cute'; 'maybe someday you'll grow up to be a great pegasus knight just like your mother'; 'when your mother was your age, she was already in training for Ylisse's elite pegasus flight!' Gawds, I couldn't _stand_ your profession. Pegasus knights? _Please._ " Severa scoffed. "Your shadow was freaking huge, and I couldn't escape it even after you died. You should've heard what people said. Some filthy noble actually had the gall to tell me— _me! Your daughter! Recently orphaned!_ —that Cordelia, oh so perfect Cordelia, would not have let her mother die!" Severa's knuckles were white in the grip she clenched on her arms. "So it was _my_ fault! _OBVIOUSLY!_ It was only because I wasn't as perfect as _you,_ of course, that _you,_ the perfect one, died. What a joke!" Her eyes were red with a fiery rage. "You died when I was a preteen, _'Mother,'_ and I have spent every year since then hating you." She glared insolently at Cordelia. "Did you hear me, Mother? _I hate you._ I've been avoiding you because I don't _want_ to talk to you, and I never will."

"Severa…" Cordelia murmured. "…I don't believe that that's true."

"Believe whatever you want," Severa scoffed. She pushed away from the table and stood. "I'm out of here. Probably not worthy of standing in your perfect presence anyway."

Cordelia sighed, staring down at her hands as Severa walked towards the door. "I'm not giving up, Severa. I love you too much for that."

Severa's hand rested on the door handle. "I'd expect as much from perfect Cordelia. You'll probably hound me forever, never getting the gist that I really don't care." She glanced sideways at her mother. "I guess, in that way, you _aren't_ perfect, are you?"

Cordelia continued to look down. In a hollow tone, she murmured, "Chrom told me to relay that you're under house arrest for the time being. You won't see any combat for the indefinite future."

"Fine. By. Me," Severa snarled.

She left, slamming the door behind her.

Cordelia clasped her hands atop the table, and slowly rested her forehead atop them. Her heart sank to a new low.

* * *

Old Hubba had entered the conference room at some point, and stood next to Chrom as he concluded his recap to the Einherjar-filled room. Hubba's hands were clasped atop his cane, and his old eyes watched the room, pleased.

"Now that you all know the truth," Chrom said, "all I ask is that you help us find and reclaim the rest of the Einherjar, and end this war. Can I ask that of you?"

"Absolutely," Lyn replied without hesitation. "I think I can speak for the room when I say that I feel humiliated by my prior hostility to you, justified as it may have been by Algol's trickery. I would do anything to atone."

The rest of the room nodded its agreement.

Chrom took a breath. "Well… it makes me very happy to have everyone's support. Thank you." He gestured at the door. "You are all dismissed. Please feel free to roam the mansion—if that's all right with our host?"

Old Hubba's face wrinkled into a smile. "Of course, of course."

As most of the Einherjar shifted around, leaving the room, Eliwood stood and approached Chrom and Hubba.

"Thank you very much for your generosity," Eliwood said with a smile, offering his hand to Old Hubba. "It seems we were colleagues in the past? I very much look forward to working with you again, sir."

Old Hubba watched Eliwood's young face for a moment, a wide smile growing on his own expression. After this pause, he slowly reached out to shake Eliwood's hand. "…The pleasure is all mine, sonny," he said. "Welcome home."

* * *

Leif shouldered past a number of strangers in the crowd. "Seliph!" he whispered sharply. _"Seliph!"_

Seliph turned, noticing Leif. He wore a face of utmost impassiveness. "Leif."

Leif glanced over each shoulder, at the giant crowd of milling Einherjar. He approached Seliph, firmly grabbed his arm, and led him away from the crowd.

Seliph quietly complied.

In a side hallway, out of earshot of the others, Leif finally released Seliph.

"What's the matter, Leif?"

"Seliph, I didn't think this would be so hard," Leif growled through his teeth, pacing.

"What do you mean?"

"Lying to my father," Leif said. "I have never known my father, Seliph! Never! …I shouldn't be deceiving him like this. I know it in my heart."

Seliph softened. "Leif… Do you not trust me?"

Leif paused. "Wh—Of course I trust you."

"Everything is going as it should," said Seliph calmly. He put a hand on Leif's shoulder. "I understand. To think, I am finally reunited with my father, but I cannot tell him everything… it pains me. I know that, if I were to get too close with him, I would eventually lose the will to keep our secret." He breathed in, and out. "The greater good requires sacrifice. Our silence is a small one to pay for the evil we will prevent."

Leif grimaced. "I know, but—"

"All I can ask," Seliph said, "is that you have faith. Faith in me, faith in…" He looked over his shoulders surreptitiously. "…Faith in our allies. Everything is on track, but I need you to be strong. …I need myself to be strong, and… for that to happen, I need your help, old friend." He smiled. "…Can I believe in you, Leif? Can I trust that you'll believe in me, as well?"

Resolve grew in Leif. "Yes… Yes, of course, Seliph. Until the end of it all."

Seliph smiled, relieved. "Thank you, Leif. Your companionship gives me strength." He gestured away. "Now, how about we make good of this free time, and mingle?"

"Right."

* * *

The mansion was enormous. Sigurd's mass of Einherjar slowly drifted out, mixing with the Shepherds scattered throughout Old Hubba's home.

* * *

Lyn hesitated, doing a double-take as she passed the open doorway. Inside the bedroom was a lone girl, sitting hunched over a desk and writing away, with her back to Lyn.

Lyn crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway and watching the girl for a moment. A small smile tugged at Lyn's mouth. The girl's posture, and even her clothes to a certain extent… it was a nostalgic sight.

"You must be a tactician," Lyn said, startling the girl.

The girl stood to greet Lyn, hastily combing her hair with her fingers. "Um—hi," she said.

Lyn raised a peaceful hand, still smiling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. May I come in?"

"Uh, sure thing."

Lyn slowly entered the room, looking around at the lavish furnishings. Her eyes eventually settled on the tactician. "What's your name?"

"Morgan," the girl replied. "And you're… Lyndis?"

"Yes—but you may call me Lyn."

Morgan smiled. "Lyn it is!" She turned around and quickly crouched to scribble another note.

Lyn peered over Morgan's shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"These…" Morgan said slowly, still writing, "are my Einherjar notes."

"Einherjar notes?" Lyn pulled up a chair next to Morgan's and sat down. Morgan sat back down as well.

"Yep." Morgan dotted her last 'i,' or crossed her last 't,' or whatever, and started reviewing the rather long wall of text adorning the paper.

Looking around the desk, Lyn found more and more pages of Einherjar notes were littered about. Many of the notes were thoroughly scratched out.

"Y'see, Einherjar is a really complex concept an' stuff," Morgan muttered, grabbing a filled page and reviewing it as well. "There's tons of rules that don't really make sense separately, and there seems to be a lot of contradictions and redundancy." She glanced aside at Lyn. "I guess you wouldn't happen to be able to tell me _exactly_ how Einherjar obedience works?"

Lyn blinked. "N-No, I don't think so…"

Morgan sighed. "Man, I should've just cornered Marth and asked him all these questions when I had the chance." She lifted a paper, squinting to read the small text. "I mean, just look at this. _Einherjar can change hands if they're handed over by the owner, defeated, or killed. BUT, what constitutes 'defeat' is different for every Einherjar."_ She glanced at Lyn again. "Do you know what that entails?"

"I don't believe I do."

"This means 'defeat' is entirely based on the Einherjar's _personality,"_ Morgan explained, setting the page down. "It's whatever it takes to force that specific Einherjar to surrender. It's arbitrary and, frankly, not efficient!"

Lyn shook her head. An Einherjar herself, she wasn't sure if she should feel insulted by this analysis. "How so?"

Morgan was becoming enthusiastic. "So, take… you, yeah. Severa has to practically disarm you and put a sword to your neck in order to get you to surrender. 'Cause you're a fighter, y'know?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." Lyn didn't feel insulted anymore.

"But then, Marth, he's just all over the place," Morgan continued. "On the one hand, he just gave himself up to Algol—Algol was like 'hey I've got your girlfriend,' and Marth is all 'oh shoot, better change sides.' So basically, Algol _talks him down."_ Her eyes were bright with interest when she turned to Lyn again. "That's really important! Einherjar _can_ be talked down, and Old Hubba was lying! Or—no, he was just wrong. He didn't even know about 'defeating' until we came along, and thought 'killing' was the only way… And Moth—er, other-Robin must've been wrong, too, about her 'actors on a stage' analogy…"

She chewed on a thumbnail thoughtfully. _It's too bad Hubba is so unhelpful. Obviously, if he was wrong about that, and he also didn't know that we didn't have to kill Einherjar, then he wouldn't be much help to me if I asked him about other Einherjar things._

Lyn clearing her throat snapped Morgan to her senses.

"But yeah! One hand, Marth is talked down quietly. _Other_ hand, he's ordered to fight us! And boy howdy, was he determined. We couldn't 'defeat' him, because _nothing_ would make him surrender. Lucina was forced to kill him to stop him. And since Caeda was safe, meaning he _could_ have surrendered, I think that means Algol ordered him 'win or die,' and he was forced to comply. Which means Marth _was_ forced to fight us to the death, unless there was something else at play." She sighed. "And it _always_ seems like there's something else at play… After all, Marth _did_ disobey Chrom."

Lyn nodded along. The new names coming and going with each sentence didn't help her comprehension, but she was following for the most part. _I think._

"So! Recap." Morgan took a breath, her first one in a while. "What it takes to 'defeat' an Einherjar is based on the Einherjar's personality and personal motivations. This means that Einherjar are similar to real people: able to be manipulated and imperfect in judgment. They aren't the efficient killer bots I thought they were at first…" She pouted. "Oh! But most importantly, this means naïve Einherjar are automatically less useful than stubborn ones. You could literally just talk down a naïve Einherjar—they wouldn't be any good to Algol at all, since we could just convince them that they're fighting for the wrong side." _Which would've happened with Celica if those misunderstandings hadn't happened…_ "Know what I'm saying?"

Lyn furrowed her eyebrows. _Did… did that all make sense?_ Her eyes widened. _It did!_ She nodded confidently. "Yes, I do!"

Morgan clapped her hands gleefully. "Did we just bond? I think we just bonded!"

Lyn grinned. "I think so too!" She sighed happily. "…This really brings me back, Morgan."

Morgan tilted her head curiously.

"I—er, in life… I was very close with a tactician," Lyn explained. "You very much remind me of him."

Morgan scrunched up her face, trying to recall her studies of Elibean tactics. "Was he… was he the Bernese tactician? The one who helped the heroes prevent the coming of Fire Dragons, but disappeared before the great Elibean War?"

Lyn saddened. The weight of the truth had not yet lifted from her shoulders; to hear her future spoken of like an excerpt from a history book was sobering. "…Yes, he is the one. Mark. He was a master tactician, an inspiration to me… rather lacking in social skills, but I was very fond of him."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "…Did you like him? Like, LIKE like?"

Lyn blinked. "Wha—N-No, I don't think I…" She trailed off. _Did I?_ Her memories only led up to the climactic battle with the Fire Dragon. For all she knew, she truly _did_ end up married to Mark in the years after… and disappearing just like him. But there was no way to know the truth.

…The future she had thought was ahead was actually long behind her. Everyone she had ever known was long dead; her homeland, extinct.

Depression began to settle over her. She was much happier before knowing the meaning of that accursed word, 'Einherjar.'

Morgan frowned, noticing Lyn's somber expression. "…Sorry. I didn't mean to bring any harshmellows to this campfire."

Lyn blinked, and laughed at Morgan's unusual expression. Morgan soon joined in on the laughter.

* * *

Natasha accidentally bumped shoulders with a passerby. "Oh, please excuse m—"

"Would you watch where you're GOING?" the girl snapped. "Gawds!"

Natasha flinched in surprise. "What?" The girl's rudeness was astounding.

"You heard me. If I get a bruise from this, you're gonna pay." The girl brushed one of her long, red pigtails over her shoulder.

Natasha blinked. Never before had she met such an abrasive personality, and she had known some very uncouth people in life.

There had to be a reason for this temper, Natasha reasoned. "…Are you okay, miss?"

"Yes, I'm fine, no thanks to you," snarled Pigtails.

"No, I mean… something seems to be bothering you," Natasha said. Her quiet voice carried a peaceful allure. "I may not know you, but… if you would like an ear, I would be happy to help."

Pigtails hesitated, clearly tempted. "…You're a real quiet girl. Think you can take some yelling?"

Natasha smiled. "I've dealt with worse. What's your name?"

"S-Severa." _Holy cow, that's a nice smile,_ Severa thought. It had a sort of charm to it. Severa wanted to say 'manipulative'—less cynically, it was more 'charismatic.' Severa practically _wanted_ to open up to Natasha.

Severa crossed her arms. "Fine." _I should go easy on her._ "So, like, there was this _guy…_ and I didn't _really_ like him, but he had a thing for me, and… Well, it was complicated. But man, MAN, was this dense kid annoying! Infuriating, really! He was always so _smug!_ Thought he knew me so well. Hmph!"

Natasha nodded along. She could definitely identify with obnoxious suitors.

"I hated him, but like, there was this sort of charm, y'know? He was annoying, sure, but he was sincere too. Even… kind of an all right guy. If someone was into that sort of thing, that is…"

"So this isn't all about him, is it?" Natasha asked.

Severa scowled. "Right. The real problem is my mother."

Natasha hesitated. "Did she… disallow you from pursuing the young man, or…?"

"No, she woulda _loved_ it if I'd liked Linfan back," Severa muttered, looking away. "Probably would've planned the most _perfect_ wedding. People would be all, 'who did the decorations?' 'Who bought the cake?' 'Who's way better than you at everything else in the world including relationship stuff because you're too caught up in yourself to even know the real reason why you hate Linfan?' …Garbage like that."

"Oh," Natasha said. "I see. You feel that you live in—"

"—in my mother's shadow, yes," Severa interrupted, waving it away irritably. "I don't know if anyone's told you about time travel stuff, but basically I'm from a future where my mom was dead. Died perfectly, too—what a damn hero, dying to save my dad. …Until he bit it himself less than a month later." Severa clenched her fists. "Leaving me all alone for years."

Natasha definitely didn't expect any of that. "So… you… traveled through time, somehow? And now that you're back, you can talk to your mother again?"

"I _can,"_ Severa said. "But why would I? She's not my _real_ mother. And even if she _was_ —ESPECIALLY if she was—I wouldn't want to talk to someone who would heartlessly abandon her daughter like that."

"So you refuse to use this opportunity to make amends?" Natasha asked, surprised.

Severa scowled. "Don't make this sound like my fault, cleric. _She's_ the one who left me all alone during the apocalypse. I don't plan on dealing with Mother any more than I absolutely have to."

Natasha took a breath. "You're right. I apologize; I should've been more sensitive to your situation. I can't imagine what that must have been like, and honestly, I wouldn't know how to proceed in this situation were I in your shoes."

Severa looked down. "…Yeah. I guess it was pretty dumb to ask you for advice."

Natasha suppressed a giggle. Severa warmed up so quickly—Natasha had never offered advice. "I may not have a reference frame for your predicament, but I can offer more generalized advice."

"I'm all ears, healer."

"You seem to worry a great deal about this," Natasha said. "Your grudge against your mother interferes with your daily life—your love life, even. Your insecurities about not living up to your mother's legacy have plagued you long enough. If you speak to your mother—even if you both agree to never talk to each other again—then you can finally lay this to rest, and you can continue to grow as a person."

Severa scowled. "I said I don't _want_ to talk to her. Have you even been listening?"

Natasha continued. "I once knew a man during the War of the Stones—a truly obnoxious man, with a terrible penchant for gambling. He was also a talented swordsman with strong morals, but I could not see that, I was so struck by his exterior." She shook her head. "He was difficult to work with… I thought I ought to avoid him. He would often seek me out, however, and he eventually wore me down enough that I finally held an actual conversation with him, so I could learn what kind of person he was. …That being, still a gambler, and still obnoxious, but with those good qualities too."

"Heh…"

"My point is, if I had never spoken to him, I would never have gained such a valuable companion," Natasha said. "I still count him as one of my greatest friends to this day, if not… more than that. But I was once so against the idea of even _speaking_ to the man that I took the effort of avoiding him."

Severa slowly nodded. The story hit uncomfortably close to home.

She slowly composed a reply, taking in everything Natasha had said. "So you're saying… because I'm so insecure or whatever, I won't _let_ myself like people?" She crossed her arms anxiously. "…And it's because of Mother that I'm like that?"

"Your mother did all she could to ensure you had a future," Natasha said peacefully. "She gave her own life to ensure that you would carry on. What more could a parent possibly do for their child? What could she have done instead to prevent you from hating her so?" She put a hand on Severa's arm. "You needn't concern yourself with how you live up to your mother's legacy. No one should preoccupy themselves so much with their accomplishments versus another's. If you lay this to rest, you will be the stronger for it." She squeezed Severa's arm reassuringly. "And the only way that is possible is if you talk to her. Tell her how you feel in no uncertain words, and in the end, forgive her. Let your hatred go." Natasha smiled. "Do you think you are strong enough to do that?"

Severa grimaced. She crossed her arms tighter. "I don't know."

"I wish you the best of luck, Miss Severa. I believe in you." Natasha gave Severa's arm one last, supportive squeeze, and dropped her hand. "Farewell."

"Yeah…" Severa murmured, while Natasha left. "…I'm not going to talk to Mother. Like I would crawl back to her on my hands and knees… Pff." She shrugged with forced nonchalance. "If she wants to come talk to me, then _fine_ , I guess I could humor her for a little bit." She started to walk. "…A _little_ bit."

* * *

"I am Catria."

Cordelia raised an eyebrow at the bluntness of the line's delivery. Catria stood straight, watching Cordelia seriously, but not unkindly; her blue hair seemed to accentuate the coldness of her sentence.

"Catria?" Cordelia mused. "…Of the Whitewings?"

Catria tilted her head. "So you've heard of me."

"Of course," said Cordelia. "Every pegasus knight in Ylisse is familiar with the legendary Whitewings of Macedon. You are Catria, the middle sister?"

"I am," Catria said. "The Whitewings…" She bit her lip; the first crack in her expression, "…became legendary?"

Cordelia smiled. "Oh, yes. The intuitive learner, Est; the strong leader, Palla; and the talented champion, Catria. The three of you practically write the bards' lyrics yourselves, your differences are so varied and perfectly complementary."

Catria blinked; the flattery made heat rise to her cheeks. "Y-You oversell me, Lady…"

"Cordelia."

"Lady Cordelia." Catria took a breath. "I couldn't possibly measure up to my sisters. You exaggerate my importance…"

"I'm doing no such thing. Lady Catria was always remembered as the strongest of the three Whitewings, with a raw skill and drive that put all flyers in Archanea's history to shame." She smiled. "Yet your humility is as boundless as history implies."

"H-Humility or no, that is simply not true," Catria insisted. "Est may have started inexperienced, but learned at an ungodly quick pace… and Palla was always the most experienced. Not to mention Lady Caeda, whose devotion to Lord Marth set her above and beyond…"

Cordelia frowned. "Lord Marth…" She tapped her chin. "…Lady Catria, may I ask you a rather… personal question?"

Catria blushed. _She couldn't be asking about—?_ "W-Within reason, Lady Cordelia."

"Milady, there has always been one historical mystery that I have always wanted to know for certain," Cordelia stated. "In historical circles, a notion has always abounded that you… harbored an unrequited crush for Marth." Catria flushed a bright red. "Is there any truth to these suggestions?"

 _Oh no. She IS asking about that._ Catria shook her head hastily. "O-Of course n—"

"Lady Catria," Cordelia murmured. "You have no need to be embarrassed… certainly not in front of me. I was once guilty of the same."

Catria was taken aback. "You were?"

Cordelia nodded solemnly.

Catria realized her previous sentence had already pretty much given away the truth—and her own behavior was suspicious on its own—so she slowly grasped that she had nothing to lose.

 _It is not MY secret, anyway…_

"You are correct, Lady Cordelia. In life, I constantly held onto a pointless, immature crush for the man I could never have." Catria clenched her hands into fists. "It bothered me for a long time… and I could tell no one of it. This forbidden feeling, this terrible burden, with no solution in sight… I hated myself for it. It was horrible."

Cordelia winced. She had hoped for an interesting story, but instead received one that struck all too close to home. She remembered how debilitating her similar feelings had been—she had devoted all of her time to anything that would take her mind off of him. Working, organizing, training—whatever it took. She looked at Catria, and saw the same thing: a similarly hyper-capable person, motivated by whatever it took to distract them from their unliftable burden.

But was it unliftable, truly?

Cordelia no longer felt the pain of Chrom's absence, as she used to. She attributed this to the most important difference between herself and Catria.

Cordelia had found it in herself to fall in love with another, while Catria was ultimately consumed by her profession and died without an heir.

 _…But I shouldn't tell her that._

"I agree," Cordelia murmured. "It was horrible for me, too, and I also hated myself for it…"

 _This isn't Catria. This girl standing before me deserves some hope._

"But I was eventually able to let that hatred go." Cordelia smiled.

 _Even if the real Catria couldn't, this one can grow past this feeling. This is not meaningless._

 _Everyone is capable of letting go of their hatred._

"Lady Catria. You can do the same."

Cordelia offered a hand.

Catria stared numbly down at the red-haired pegasus knight's offer. Slowly, trembling, she reached out and shook Cordelia's hand. "Th-Thank you, Lady Cordelia… You are far too kind."

A second revelation struck Cordelia. _Hatred… Is self-hatred the key? Is that the piece I am missing? Are Severa's feelings not truly focused on me…?_

"…Thank you for this conversation," Cordelia said, smiling. "In spite of everything, you've a bright future ahead of you, milady. I believe in you."

Catria seemed woozy from emotion. "H… Have a nice day, Lady Cordelia," she murmured hazily, and slowly walked away.

Cordelia chuckled.

* * *

"Mmph!" Lucina grunted, snapped out of her reverie when she bumped into a passerby. "Oh! My apologies."

"Think nothing of it, milady."

Lucina's eyes narrowed. "You… What's your name?"

He turned around, smiling a cool smile. His hand rested casually atop the golden sword sheathed on his hip. "Seliph Baldos Chalphy, milady; heir to the throne of Grannvale."

Lucina stiffened. "Seliph, you said?"

Excitement ran through her. _Finally._

Seliph tilted his head. "Yes. Do you know of me, perchance?"

"Y-Yes, I am familiar with your name, at least," said Lucina. "My name is Lucina."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Lucina. You know me from legends of Jugdral, I presume?"

Lucina blinked, pushing her most pressing thoughts back for now. "You hail from Jugdral?"

"I do. In life, I succeeded my betrayed father and eventually came to obtain the title of Emperor of Grannvale." He smiled wryly. "Though such postwar activities as ruling a continent were… after my time."

"Ah," Lucina said. "So you were the hero of Jugdral's legendary Last Holy War. Seliph."

It struck her that, no matter how casually she tried to speak such a sentence, it would never cease to amaze her that the many heroes she would meet as Einherjar were equally legendary to the Hero-King she so idolized.

"…And if you were that hero, then Lord Sigurd was your father?" Lucina continued. "Have you… met him?"

Seliph tensed slightly. "…No."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated, my lady. On top of some reasons I would rather not disclose, the fact remains that my father died when I was very young. I never knew him." He squeezed the pommel of his sword, and cast his eyes aside. "Even if I _were_ to talk to him… what would I say? Would it be better for him to know of his grim future? And of the unspeakable hardships our homeland would endure in his absence? There are some stories of Jugdral's bloody history that should remain untold, in my opinion."

Lucina frowned. "I understand that feeling. I, once, was blessed with the opportunity to travel to the past to avert a bleak future, and in doing so I was forced to interact with my father of the past. Trust me, Sir Seliph, I experienced those same doubts."

"Yet you overcame them."

"Of course… I doubt even the strongest warrior could forever resist the urge to speak to a fallen loved one again." She smiled. "Even though one could argue that this Chrom is not, technically, my _true_ father, he is every bit the man I'd hoped he would be. Your situation is hardly different, Sir Seliph; as an Einherjar, Lord Sigurd may not be your 'real' father, but he certainly counts. Technicalities and debates aside, we both get to meet our lost parents."

Seliph chuckled. "You have a way with words, milady. Put that way, it seems pointless to avoid speaking with Father." He met her eye. "Though, I still have yet to encounter my mother, Deirdre. I look forward to the occasion more every day." He squinted into her eyes curiously.

"Do you resemble your mother as much as you do your father?"

"More than I'd like to admit," Seliph laughed. "I recall my first meeting with Finn, back in the war, being a fairly awkward one. He told me that he had expected me to look like Sigurd, but, hair color aside, I much more closely resembled Deirdre."

Lucina chuckled. "I must admit you have a rather feminine look. I have received similar responses in the other direction, regarding my resemblance to my father."

Seliph and Lucina shared a brief laugh.

Seliph settled down and continued. "…The main characteristic of Deirdre's that I lack—again, hair color aside—is the Brand embellishing her forehead."

Lucina frowned. "Her Brand?"

"Yes, the mark of Heim, one of the Twelve Crusaders," Seliph replied. "More colloquially known as the Brand of Naga, necessary to wield Naga's sacred Book. …Not dissimilar from the very Brand in your eye, Lady Lucina."

"My Brand…" Lucina whispered.

"Not that I am lacking in a Brand," Seliph resumed. He rolled back his sleeve, revealing an unusual mark adorning his wrist. "I inherited my father's, instead: the mark of Baldr, another of the Crusaders. This mark enables me to wield my sword, Tyrfing… and burdens me with the responsibilities entailed by the wielding of a Holy Weapon."

Lucina frowned. Her hand unconsciously brushed against the parallel Falchion on her hip. "…And a very heavy burden that must be."

"It is," Seliph said grimly. "Milady… may I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

Seliph stared down at his wrist, distant. "This Brand of mine allows me to wield a divine blade that, evidently, led me to victory… and it is a piece of my family that I cannot lose, where I have precious little else to prove my genealogy by. Yet, it is also a constant reminder of all I _have_ lost… and it cursed me to a lifetime of tragedy. My father's death, the perversion of my half-brother's soul—the horrors of the Last Holy War…" He grimaced, briefly overcome. "So much blood spilt over blood."

Seliph finally looked up to meet her eye again. "For my question. Tell me… Lady Lucina. If you found yourself able to cast away your Brand—free yourself from it—would you take that opportunity?"

Lucina's lips parted in surprise. "Would I cast away the Brand…?"

It was times like this that Lucina regretted the placement of her Brand on her eye. She wished she could make like Seliph, and stare down onto her Brand, losing herself in wistful thought while the mark stared peacefully back up at her.

As it was, though, the only proof she had that her mark even existed was by the word of others. She had nothing but her feelings to move her through this dilemma.

"I… No," Lucina said. "No, I would not. If anyone had to bear this burden, I'd rather it was me."

Seliph smiled wanly. "…Yes… I think that's the right answer, is it not? I would never wish my situation on anyone else. Memory of the Last Holy War should not burden the minds of others." He chuckled quietly. "Nor would I wish my current situation on anyone…"

"Your current situation…" Lucina murmured. She nearly kicked herself, having forgotten the reason for her initiating this conversation in the first place. She began to tense with excitement. "Hold a moment, sir. I have something to tell you. Something important."

Seliph crossed his arms. "Important, hm? Well, I am all ears, my lady."

Lucina took a breath. It had only been a day, but Marth's death felt like weeks ago. To finally fulfill his dying wish…

"Prince Seliph. I have a, um… a message from Lord Marth."

Seliph frowned.

"Last night, he… died. Lost his memories, returned to his card…" She breathed in, and out. "Before he disappeared into light, he told me: 'Find Seliph. Tell him of my fate.' …So, here I am." She crossed her arms uncomfortably. "That's… the whole message, short as it is."

"Disappeared into light…" Seliph murmured. "Hmm…"

Lucina wrung her hands.

"…I'm afraid I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about, milady."

Lucina blinked. "What? B-But… Marth, he said…"

"I'm sorry," said Seliph quietly. "I wish I had something to tell you, but…" He inclined his head. "Excuse me, milady."

Lucina nodded, swallowing her disappointment. _Perhaps Seliph has lost his memory, or Marth was simply wrong._ "I under—"

Seliph winked.

Lucina stiffened. _What?! He just winked at me! He DOES know something!_

"I suppose, if I _did_ have something to say," Seliph said, not meeting her eye, "it would be something along these lines… And, the next time you are uncertain, milady, remember these words." His eyes twinkled—an impressive feat, given his otherwise-impassive expression. "It's fake."

Again, Seliph inclined his head, he repeated, "Excuse me, milady," and he left.

Lucina's mouth hung slightly open, astounded. _What the…?_ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. _…There must be more to this than there seems… Why the cloak and dagger, if…?_

She slowly moved to return to her room.

 _Perhaps this rabbit hole goes deeper…_

* * *

Chrom's attention was caught by a courteous knocking at his room's door. Sitting at his desk, he pushed Morgan's after-action report aside and folded his hands expectantly. "Come in."

The old door creaked open, revealing the newcomer as Sigurd, who smiled pleasantly as he entered. "Good evening, Lord Chrom. Would you mind if we spoke?"

"Sure." Chrom gestured at a chair opposite his desk. "If it's all right with you, I'd rather you dropped the formalities. 'Chrom' is fine."

"As you wish." Sigurd left the door open and took a seat. "I have a question for you, Chrom. I have reunited with a few old friends recently—those whom I knew in life, such as Quan and Lex, and even my son from the future…" He trailed off. "…Or, not technically from the future, I suppose? He was mistaken."

Chrom's eyes narrowed. _Mistaken. Yeah, right._ He held his tongue for now, to let Sigurd ask his question.

Sigurd shook his head. "Anyway, my question is this: have you encountered a woman with silver hair?"

Chrom immediately thought of the alternate Robin, and then of the Silver-Haired Maiden of legend. "As strange as this is to say, that could mean a few different people."

"Her name is Deirdre." Sigurd wrung his hands. "She is my wife."

"Deirdre…" said Chrom, frowning. "I haven't met her. I could check Old Hubba's manifest later, but it's possible that there isn't an Einherjar of her."

Sigurd's heart fell. "…I see. Thank you, regardless."

Chrom tilted his head curiously. It was an oddly distraught expression that Sigurd wore. "I wish I could help," he said quietly.

"I don't doubt that." Sigurd forced a smile. "It has just been a very long time. I haven't seen her since Agustria…"

Chrom pursed his lips. _I should probably change the subject…_ "So, Seliph is your son?"

Sigurd nodded. "Indeed. He certainly grew to be a fine young man."

"I suppose so. Anyway, I've been wondering about him. He seems so… shifty, I guess. Like he has some kind of ulterior motive. Could you shed any light on that?"

"I don't think so," Sigurd replied. "He came to me just before the battle in Jungby, alongside his friend Leif. He told us that he came from the future, and that we had to fight you. Other than that, I have had precious little interaction with him." Noticing the hardening look in Chrom's eye, Sigurd quickly added, "B-But of course he was under Algol's orders! He couldn't have known he was fighting for the wrong side. Please don't judge him too harshly."

Chrom felt he had little reason to reveal his trepidations to Sigurd. He would only distress the man more by disclosing them.

Sigurd looked down at his hands, a wistful smile growing on his face. "…To think, my son would grow up to become such a grand hero. I look at him, and I see only the child Deirdre and I held in our arms…" He shook his head. "When was the last time I saw him? After Agustria was Silesse, and then we… went to Grannvale, and…" Sigurd's face fell as he struggled to remember. "What happened in Grannvale…?"

Chrom winced, recalling what Marth had said about his memory of the War of Shadows. _So that is where Sigurd's story ends._

"Did I ever find Deirdre?" Sigurd murmured to himself. "Did Reptor and Lombard pay for their treachery…? Why can I not remember?"

Chrom smiled wanly. "It was a very long time ago. Whatever happened then doesn't matter now."

"It _does_ matter," Sigurd insisted. "I can remember nothing of my life after that point! Could you imagine, Chrom, if you suddenly woke up a thousand years in the future, and could only remember up to this very moment? And were told that you are a fake, and the real 'you' lived a full and happy life—and you can remember _none of it?"_

"I'm sorry, Sigurd. I can't imagine how it must feel, and I wasn't trying to trivialize your situation. All I meant was that the conflict you fought for has long been over, and justice has been served. You don't need to worry about that anymore."

Sigurd sat back, sighing. "You have a point. I just… it just pains me that I will never feel the joy of raising my son, together with Deirdre again."

Chrom suddenly thought of his daughter, Lucina, still back in Ylisstol. A sharp pain cramped in his heart, and for a very brief moment, he thought: _I am wasting my time. We are all wasting our time. We need to find Robin, and go home!…_

But he shook his head, brushing off those doubts. _I can't be selfish. This cause is far too important to ignore. …Lucina, I promise, I'll be home soon enough._

"Chrom," Sigurd said suddenly, leaning forward. He had felt a similar ache in his heart for Deirdre, and could not keep this thought to himself. "May I ask a personal question?"

"Go ahead."

"Have you ever known true love?"

Chrom blinked. "What? I'm… married, yes." _Oh man. I still need to speak with Maribelle after what happened this morning._

Sigurd shook his head. "I'm sorry, I could have phrased that better. I meant: when you met your wife, did you know how you felt immediately? When first you laid eyes on her, did you think, "this is the woman I must spend my life with, forever"?"

Chrom hesitated. "I… Hm." He thought for a moment. "…No, I didn't really fall in love with Maribelle at first sight. I knew her for years before either of us thought of each other that way, I believe. Our bond grew slowly as we fought side-by-side on the battlefield… the Ylisse-Plegia War. We both realized how we felt for each other, but Maribelle was the first to voice it, confessing to me at the end of the war." He smiled fondly at the memories.

Sigurd smiled. "Then I most certainly misspoke earlier by implying that love is not 'true' love. Your love for Miss Maribelle is as true as any other."

"Thanks." Chrom furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Though… as far as love at first sight goes, my friend Sumia would be the prime example. She was baking pies for Robin on the same day they met. And, come on, pies? Obviously means romance."

Chrom and Sigurd both laughed.

"I'd be interested in hearing more sometime," Sigurd said. "I'd like it if we became friends."

"I'd like that as—" A flutter of pink by the doorway distracted Chrom. After hesitating, he quickly stood. "Th-Thank you for this conversation, Sigurd. I've got to go."

"Right…" Sigurd curiously watched Chrom hurry out of the room.

* * *

Chrom closed the mansion's door behind him as he chased Maribelle outside.

"Maribelle! Maribelle, Maribelle," Chrom stammered breathlessly.

She turned around, frowning. "Chrom…"

Chrom caught up to her. "I haven't seen you all day, Maribelle. Are you okay?"

"I am all right, yes."

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Chrom's eyes narrowed. "You can't possibly still be mad, can you?"

"I am not mad," said Maribelle. "I promise, I am not. I hold no grudge against the alternate Robin." She looked away. "I just… have been caught up in my thoughts ever since we met other Shepherds."

"What thoughts? Talk to me, Maribelle. You can always confide in me."

Maribelle grimaced. "I… yes, I suppose I should. You're right." She looked up at him. "Chrom: I _am_ upset. Not mad, and my feelings are not directed at you, or at anyone, truly. I think."

"Then what's wrong?"

"It's about us." Maribelle crossed her arms uncomfortably. "How… we did not end up together in the other timeline. I find that terrifying, Chrom. It made me wonder if our relationship was truly that fragile—that, were a few small variables changed, there would be no 'us.' That if our Robin was likewise female, she would have taken you away from me…"

"I don't care about those other timelines," Chrom said aggressively. "I don't care about what happened or what didn't, I don't care about the differences. In _this_ timeline, _ours,_ the only one that matters to us, we _did_ end up together. Maribelle, in this very timeline, I love you more than you could possibly imagine. I see no reason for worrying when you already have what you want, and so do I."

Maribelle had no leg left to stand on, so, with no argument, she found herself forced to conjure a smile for him. "Thank you, dear." And she accepted his hug.

She rested her head on his chest, the irritation still gnawing at her heart.

 _Something was different. SOMETHING changed._

Her eyes narrowed.

 _Something is very wrong about all this._

Slowly, she pulled away from Chrom, while still wearing that forced half-smile. "You know just the right things to say."

Chrom shrugged. "It comes with marriage, wouldn't you say?"

"I'd say so, you sweethearts!"

Chrom and Maribelle turned to the newcomer—or rather, newcomers. Morgan and Say'ri both approached; Say'ri wore a serious expression, but Morgan, not so much.

"You two are _adorable,"_ Morgan cooed. "Love the whole dynamic you guys have going!"

"What's the matter, Morgan?" Chrom asked wearily. He nodded at Say'ri. "I don't see you two interact much."

"We are here to bring light to a much more dire issue than Morgan's demeanor implies," Say'ri said through clenched teeth. "Sire, this regards the welfare of Lady Tiki."

Morgan nodded, hastily dropping her smile. "Right! Follow me, Captain. This is important."

After exchanging a glance with Maribelle, Chrom followed Morgan and Say'ri. Maribelle trailed just behind, chewing on her thumbnail anxiously.

* * *

Tiki was peacefully asleep on the bed. Nowi lay down on the floor, resting her chin in her hands and absently waving her feet in the air, while Nah sat upright in a chair nearby with her hands clasped in her lap. Libra sat in the chair next to Nah's, wearing a grim expression.

After holding the door for the other entrants, Chrom entered the room, watching Tiki. He slowly realized that he hadn't seen anything of Naga's Voice since the Shepherds had entered the Outrealms.

"Is she all right?" Chrom asked.

"No," Say'ri hissed immediately, but Morgan overrode her with a more casual "Yeah."

Morgan continued, "According to Say'ri, Tiki's been really sick since we first entered the Outrealms, and got sicker each time she used an Outrealm Gate. …Which was only _twice,_ and she apparently fell into a coma at some point." She handwaved Chrom's distressed look with, "She's over that. Just nappin' now."

Chrom looked around urgently. "Wha—Well—Why?! And why am I just hearing about this _now?!"_

"Because the Voice insisted," Say'ri muttered. "I know not why, but she forbade me from telling you the truth, Chrom." She glanced at Morgan. "…I soon found a loophole."

Chrom reeled. _I wasn't ready for this._ "So—she's like me? Going through the Outrealm Gate makes her ill?"

"Yep," Morgan answered. "Yesterday, I found out that this was happening to Nah. When I found out Tiki was having the same problem, I figured it might be a Manakete thing. So I asked Nowi, and it turns out she was having the same issue. So I gathered them all here and went to get you."

Libra waved. "Also I'm here."

Chrom shook his head. "So then why does it affect _me?_ And why is Tiki affected so much more?"

"One of life's mysteries, eh?" Morgan said cheerfully. "Dunno, Captain. Can't really answer that right now."

Chrom crossed his arms. "Well then… what does this mean? How do we solve this problem? …Or are the Manaketes just out of commission, period, for as long as we're in the Outrealms?"

Nah tensed. "U-Unacceptable!" she exclaimed, a little bit louder than she intended. She blushed, and sat back. "…I don't want to miss anything, is all. I want to help find Robin."

"Me too!" said Nowi, pouting. "You can't just make me sit out!"

"Calm down," Chrom said. "We're only brainstorming right now. For all we know, this is a simple fix with an antitoxin, or something."

"Or a Restore staff, maybe?" Maribelle added.

"You know, if ONLY we had a resident of the Outrealms here—possibly a Manakete, himself—that we could talk to," Morgan snarked. "Somebody who would _probably know_ what this is and how we'd solve it."

"You're right," Chrom said. "No use reinventing the wheel when we've got Old Hubba. I'll go find him." He turned to Maribelle. "If anyone else reports a similar illness, send them to me. In fact, could you hold a census?"

"Of course, Chrom."

Chrom nodded at Say'ri. "I'll get to the bottom of this." And he and Maribelle left.

Morgan immediately turned to the Manaketes. "Aight. No sugarcoating this: all of you are sitting out of combat for the time being. Indefinitely." She gestured at Libra. "You're good though."

"What?!" Nah exclaimed. "Morgan, I'm fine! After a few minutes, it wears off. I can still fight."

"No, you aren't," said Morgan. She also silenced Nowi's protests: "Both of you are liabilities, guys! I can't rely on you two when you're that sick. Nah, don't think I forgot that bloodlust you had when you were fighting Mia! And Libra told me about how you fainted right after."

Nah cringed, remembering her dream.

Morgan continued, "What if you'd fainted in the _middle_ of the battle, huh? That could've cost lives!"

"What about me, huh?" Nowi said. _"I_ haven't fainted in battle!"

"That's because I haven't fielded you."

"Oh." Nowi shrugged. "Okay, I give up."

"And it goes without saying that Lady Tiki is unfit for combat," said Say'ri.

"That's why I didn't say it."

"Fair point."

Nah found herself without a defense. "This is so unfair!" she said angrily.

"I know, but it's for everyone's good," Morgan said. Smiling, she walked over to Nah and took her hand. "It's for yours, too, buddy! I don't want you to get sick. It'd make me worry about you even more than usual."

Nah softened. "Thanks, Mor—Wait, what do you mean 'even more than usual'?"

Morgan patted Nah on the head.

* * *

Old Hubba scrunched up his face in thought, and scratched his beard as well. "Hmm… Yer dragons are gettin' sick, huh?"

"Yes." _I wonder, are the Minervas okay?_ "Anytime they, or I, go through an Outrealm Gate, we feel ill. Very badly ill, sometimes. Can you offer any insight into this?"

Hubba sighed. "What we're lookin' at is a bad case of Outrealm Sickness, my friend. Tough luck."

"Outrealm Sickness?"

The old man nodded. "It's not a common thing, I tell ya. Myself, I've never met someone afflicted by it, far as I recall."

"Really? Haven't you lived forever?"

"Well, not 'forever,' but, heh, I guess it'd be forever to a mortal." Old Hubba chuckled.

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "But if you were so long-lived, wouldn't you have to be a Manakete?"

"Heheheh." Hubba changed the subject. "I can't offer ya any help, I'm afraid. I wouldn't know the first thing about treatin' Outrealm Sickness."

Chrom's heart fell. "Great… Thanks anyway, Hubba."

 _"Old_ Hubba."

Chrom rolled his eyes. _"Old_ Hubba. I've never met someone so insistent on telling people that they're old…"

"Think of it like a title," Old Hubba said cheerfully. "Like 'Prince' or 'Lord,' but… 'Old.' Ladies love titles, almost as much as they love older men!"

"Not sure where you're getting that information."

Old Hubba laughed. "It's what ol' Beatrice used to tell me! Oh, she _insisted_ I call myself Old Hubba. Got her into a right horny frenzy, it did."

Chrom winced at the agonizing mental image. He quickly blocked it out. "Who's Beatrice?"

"Oh, Bea? She was my wife. Beautiful as the sun is hot. And she was as hot as the sun, mm-mm."

"Was? What happened?"

Hubba waved it away. "Oh, she passed on a long time ago. 'Bout a century, I believe."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Chrom said.

Old Hubba smiled wanly. "She lived a long an' full life, yeah? …It's all good."

Old Hubba was smiling, so Chrom took this as an opportunity to change the subject. "Any news about more Einherjar yet?"

Hubba shook his head. "Nope, nothin' yet. Workin' on it, though—I've got Leila huntin' hot on Algol's trail."

Chrom glanced at the sky: the sun was setting, so any actual expedition would have to wait until tomorrow, anyway. No big deal.

"…Have I thanked ya for helpin' me with all this? Because thanks. This'd be a losin' venture without ya, an' honestly, it feels like we're winnin'."

Chrom chuckled. "It's all right, Hubba; this is to our mutual benefit. No thanks needed."

"If you insist."

A thought entered Chrom's head. _With this free time, we could…_ "Old Hubba, I have a question for you. Last one, I promise."

"Fire away, my friend."

Chrom paused to carefully choose his words. "Yesterday… we had to defeat Caeda in order to return her to her card," he lied. "Last night at around midnight, I should say."

 _'…Not that you CAN summon me until a full day after I return to my card,'_ Marth had said.

"Is there some kind of cooldown period we'd have to wait for?" Chrom asked. "Or could we go re-summon… Caeda, right now?"

"Nah, no cooldown," said Hubba. "I've seen Einherjar defeated and resurrected on the spot."

"Hm." _Was expecting another disappointing answer,_ Chrom thought. _One for three. …Was Marth wrong? I guess he and Hubba have been misled in the past about Einherjar stuff._ "Well then… I guess I'll go re-summon Caeda, then." He smiled. "Thanks again, old man."

Old Hubba two-finger saluted. "Anytime!"

* * *

Chrom had knocked on Lucina's door and asked her to gather her mother and Morgan, and to bring them to Chrom's room in ten minutes. With his daughter on-mission, Chrom took a brief diversion to a different part of the mansion.

Chrom rapped his knuckles against the door. "Anna?" Hearing movement inside, he asked, "Mind if I come in?"

"Sure thing!"

Chrom opened the door, took a half-second to process the sight before him, and made a noise somewhere along the lines of "Bwuh?"

Anna sat on the bed, cross-legged, while Anna stood across from her, leaning against the wall. Both looked at Chrom with identical grins.

Chrom shook his head clear. "One of your sisters, I guess?" he asked to the room, unsure of which Anna was his.

"Yep," both Annas said as one, and they then fell silent.

"Alright, joke's over," Chrom growled. "Tell me who's who or you're getting latrine duty for a week."

Anna on the bed pouted. "Oh, you're no fun. _I'm_ the real Anna."

"Rude," said Standing Anna. "I'm real, you jerk!"

Anna winked. "Oh, you know what I meant, sis."

Standing Anna quickly dropped her offended pretense. "Oh, you. You see right through me!"

"So what do we owe this visit to?" Chrom asked.

"More intel on Robin," said Anna. (The Shepherds' Anna, rather.) "Basically, she's dropping off some news. When we're finally done with all these Einherjar shenanigans, we can set off our search at a nice, brisk pace. Knowing where we're going, an' stuff."

"Oh, and you'll need it," Standing Anna teased. "Sis has some problems with keepin' her bearings here in the Outrealms."

Chrom's spirits lifted. "Thank you, Anna. …Annas. This really makes it feel like we're not wasting our time."

Standing Anna (alt-alt-Anna?) winked. "Oh, trust me, you aren't! What you're doing here helps the Annas more than anybody, to be honest."

"What? Why?"

"I'll answer _that_ question at a later date. You must be here for somethin', though—I'm sure you didn't walk all this way just to say hello to little ol' Anna."

"As bad as that makes me sound, you're right." Chrom faced the Anna on the bed. "Outrealm Sickness. Ring any bells?"

Anna's expression was blank. "Uh… no?"

Chrom furrowed his eyebrows. "But you're an Anna! What happened to, 'we Annas travel through the Outrealms, golding and otherwise spreading capitalism'?"

Anna brightened. "Is 'golding' catching on?! I knew it would!"

Chrom pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Listen," said Standing Anna (Stannda?), "I'm not really sure what that 'Outrealm Sickness' is, but I'll swing on back to HQ and see if we've got anything for that. If we don't, we'll make something." She smirked. "I'm sure Mother knows all about it, though."

Anna nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, of course _she_ does! Say hey to her for me, other-me."

Standing Anna hesitated. "R-Right. Sure thing, sis." She nodded at Chrom. "Pleasure meeting ya!" And she left.

* * *

Chrom's room was dead silent. Morgan, Lucina, and Maribelle stood nearby, while Chrom stood in the center of the room, staring grimly down at Caeda's card.

Chrom took a breath. He had originally intended to do all of this downstairs in the office, but he soon realized that that office was Old Hubba's—once the Shepherds were done summoning Caeda, and moved on to Marth, they risked the chance of Old Hubba walking in and learning of Chrom's deception. The last thing Chrom wanted was to lose Old Hubba's trust. In Chrom's room, however, they at least had some privacy.

"Okay," Chrom murmured to himself. "Let's do this." He closed his eyes, concentrating.

Lucina crossed her arms uncomfortably. She could still feel Marth's card, heavy in her pocket.

Morgan kept her notebook at the ready, and finally plucked the pencil from her ear to hover it over the page.

"Princess Caeda, Heart of Talys," Chrom said. "Come forth and accept my command."

Morgan nodded, reviewing her notes:

 _How to summon an Einherjar from its card_

 _-The specific words don't matter, as long as you say the specific name on the card (e.g. "Lex," "Caeda," "Prince Marth" (yes titles matter))_

 _-Whatever order you summon them with is the first thing they'll do when summoned_

 _-When done, set the card on the ground (will remain on ground after Einher. appears)_

 _-Be ready for the awesomeness that will most certainly ensue_

Chrom knelt down, gingerly placing the card in the center of the carpet. He then backed a pace away, while all eyes settled eagerly on the card.

The image of Caeda on the card slowly acquired a blue glow. White lines rapidly traced down the figure of Caeda's portrait.

At last, a midnight-blue flame erupted from the card.

 _-P.S. also bring fire extinguishing materials probably just in case_

The fire shot upward, rising up to nearly Chrom's height and swirling outwards to form a wide pillar of flame. The four watchers were briefly alarmed—Morgan, in particular, reached for the bucket of water she had brought—but soon found there was nothing to fear, as the tall fire remained in the same spot for a long moment, and seemed to radiate no heat.

Then, just as quickly as it had arisen, the fire whisked away to disappear into the air. Left behind was a tall woman with long, blue hair; she wore the light armor characteristic of a pegasus knight.

She slowly opened her eyes and smiled at Chrom. "…You've asked for me, sir?"

Chrom crossed his arms, curious. He, like the others in the room, was still a little starstruck by the Einherjar's grand entrance. "Y-Yes… What is your name?"

She placed a hand on her breastplate. "My name is Caeda, sir. Princess of Talys."

Lucina's breath caught.

Caeda frowned slightly. "…I'm sorry, but I'm drawing a blank on your name, milord."

"Chrom," he answered, offering a hand (which she shook). "It's an honor to meet you, Your Highness."

"Likewise," she said, smiling. "So. Did you have need of me?"

"More like… I have a couple of questions," said Chrom. "Where did I call you from?"

Caeda shook her head, surprised by the silly question. "Well, of course I just came from…" She suddenly hit a block; her smile wavered. "Um… I was just…"

Chrom took a slow breath. "…I see. Thank you, Princess." He turned to Maribelle. "Could you take Caeda into Lucina's room and, ah… fill her in?"

Caeda's smile was gone. Her head hurt, and trying to catch this memory was like grasping at straws. _Castle Dolhr, then…_

"Princess Caeda," Chrom said firmly, snapping her out of it. "I need you to go with Maribelle, okay? You can trust her."

Caeda nodded, still uncertain. "V-Very well."

The remainder of the room watched Maribelle escort the shaken Einherjar outside.

When the door shut, Lucina didn't miss a beat. She quickly drew the Marth card out of her pocket and offered it to Chrom.

Chrom blinked, surprised by her forcefulness. "Easy there, quickdraw." He pushed the card down. "I'm going to need a second to take this in."

"Screw that," Morgan said, her eyes wide. She giddily set her notes aside and reached for the card. "I'll do it!"

Lucina reflexively flinched away.

Morgan pouted. "Hey! I'm the tactician, you know. If we're going to be fighting side-by-side with him, I'm going to need him to follow my orders. That won't work as well if the Einherjar are under Chrom's ownership."

Chrom scratched his head. "Ah… I guess you're right. I should give you Caeda's card, too. How would I transfer ownership?"

"Should work like this," Morgan said, picking up Caeda's card off of the ground and handing it to Chrom. "See, right now, the card is yours. And if I pick it up off of the ground, that doesn't do anything. BUT, if _you_ hand it to _me,_ then that'll transfer ownership. Like when Hubba gave you the Marth card yesterday, remember?"

"Oh. That simple?"

Chrom grinned and handed the card over.

Morgan daintily accepted Caeda's card, and did a small curtsy. _"Tha_ _~nk you,_ good sir!"

"Heh!" Chrom humored her by bowing in kind. "You are most welcome, madam."

Lucina was amused, but the nagging in the back of her mind refused to relent. "Ahem… We should work on awakening Marth, don't you think?"

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Fiiine." She reached for Marth's card again, mumbling, "'Lucina, slayer of moods…'"

Morgan grasped the card in both hands, and she took a long, deep breath. The faded text of 'Prince Marth' leapt out at her from the card's portrait.

"Let's do this, Marth!" Morgan said excitedly. "I summon you here to kick some ass, Shepherd-style!"

Beaming, Morgan placed the card on the floor. She backed away eagerly.

The three Shepherds all watched the card.

…

After a long moment… it became apparent that they were waiting for nothing.

Morgan grew distraught. "What?!"

"Did you do it wrong?" Chrom asked.

"N-No… At least I shouldn't have?" _Oh wait, I didn't use his title. 'Prince' Marth. Pedantic card._

"Do it exactly like I did Caeda."

"Ha! Silly Captain, _Marth_ does Caeda."

"Wha—That's inappropriate, Morgan."

"Alright, alright… Couldn't resist…"

Morgan soon had the exercise set up once more. This time, with a (very unenthusiastic) command of "Prince Marth, come forth and accept my command or whatever," Morgan placed the card back on the ground.

Once again, the card refused to budge.

"That's crap!" Morgan exclaimed.

"Maybe that time limit is real," Chrom noted. "We should try again in a few hours, once it's past midnight again."

"No, I've _got_ to be doing it wrong," Morgan muttered, frustrated. "I'm messing up somehow, but—"

"Wait."

Chrom and Morgan both turned to Lucina. They were surprised to find the princess of a shocked pale complexion.

Lucina couldn't shake the words of Seliph echoing through her mind.

 _It's fake._

 _It's fake._

 _It's fake._

"It's fake," she breathed.

"What?" Chrom asked.

"It's fake," she repeated, louder. "That isn't Marth's card…"

"What?! Are you sure?" Chrom exclaimed. "How do you know?"

Lucina's eyes were wide. _Seliph_ _knew. How? What is this? What's going on?_

 _But I should have known. It was so close to me all along, but I was blind._

She moved to the center of the room and quickly plucked the card off of the floor. Without hesitation, she turned toward Morgan.

"What are you—" But Morgan was interrupted as Lucina brushed past her. Morgan immediately saw Lucina's goal: the water bucket Morgan had brought.

"Whoa! Lucy, wait!"

Before Morgan could do more than reach out to stop Lucina, the princess had already fully submerged the card into the water.

Morgan's hand withered. "What the heck, Lucina?!"

Lucina stared at the flooded card in her hand. Her expression grew grim, and she slowly removed the card from the water. The paper was limp, and its ink ran—the portrait of Marth was thoroughly unrecognizable.

"Trash," Lucina spat, throwing the wet card onto the floor. "It's fragile and of normal ink. This isn't an Einherjar card." Her eyes narrowed. "We've been fooled."

"But by whom?" Chrom asked. "And how, and why?"

"I don't know any of those answers," Lucina stated. "We must get to the bottom of this as soon as possible."

Morgan knelt down and delicately picked up the soaked Einherjar card. "I don't believe it…"

"We can't ask Old Hubba. He thinks the Marth card was destroyed."

"Then where do we even _start?"_

Lucina pursed her lips. _Seliph knows… but he'll tell me nothing. Whatever this is, it is part of his plan._ Her eyes narrowed. _Perhaps we should just let it play out._

"…There's no need to worry about it at this moment," Lucina said.

"Huh? What happened to 'as soon as possible'?" Morgan said dryly.

"We can worry about Marth when the time comes. There are many other Einherjar in need of rescuing for now." Lucina nodded at Chrom. "As of now, I'm famished. Excuse me, Father. Morgan."

Lucina departed.

Chrom and Morgan exchanged a skeptical glance.

Morgan tapped her chin thoughtfully. "She's right, though… we don't have any leads. We should just keep doing what we're doing for now."

"Sure," Chrom said uncertainly.

"As for me," said Morgan, stretching her arms, "I'm gonna go haze the new recruit. See ya later, Captain."

* * *

Knock, knock.

"Come in," said Maribelle pleasantly. Morgan entered.

Caeda smiled. "Lady Morgan, yes?"

"That's me," said Morgan, grinning. She sat in a chair across from Caeda, and touched the hilt of a bronze sword sheathed on her hip. "Just 'Morgan' though. Mind if I sharpen my sword while we talk?"

"Um… sure, go ahead."

"You're the bomb." Morgan placed the sword in her lap and began to grind a whetstone across the blade. _Shhhink._ "So, Maribelle filled you in?"

Caeda nodded. "Yes, she—" _Shhhink._ "Yes she did. The truth was hard to accept at first, but I am thankful Maribelle was such a kind ear."

Maribelle smiled, then winced at— _Shhhink._ "Is that necessary, Morgan?"

"Sorry, but yeah," Morgan said. "Anyway, Caeda. Tell me a little about yourself." She paused her whetstone. "Is just 'Caeda' okay?"

Caeda smiled. "Yes, of course."

"Awesome!" _Shhhink._

"A-Anyway," Caeda resumed, "as you know, I'm the princess of Talys. Or, I was, rather. Now I'm a Hamsterjar."

"Ah, Einherjar," Maribelle corrected.

Caeda frowned. "What did I say?"

"That's cool." _Shhhink._ "I'm the Shepherds' tactician. If we get in any more fights, you're under my command." Morgan smiled. "I figured we should get acquainted."

"I think that's a wonderful—" _Shhhink._ Nails on a chalkboard; Caeda cringed.

Morgan smiled pleasantly, setting her whetstone aside and holding the sword up to the light admiringly. "Miss Captain?" she asked.

It took a moment for Maribelle to realize she was being spoken to. "Er, yes?"

Morgan set the sword down and faced Maribelle, smiling. "Would you mind excusing me and the lovely princess for _juuust_ a moment?"

Maribelle frowned. "I… I suppose so." She slowly stood. "When you're finished talking, there will be dinner ready in the mess hall. Come join us there."

"You got it," said Morgan, saluting.

She and Caeda waited quietly for Maribelle to shut the door behind her. Even after Maribelle had left, a silent moment passed before Morgan finally turned to face Caeda.

Caeda sighed. She had nothing against Morgan, but she was definitely much more comfortable with Maribelle present. Morgan hadn't exactly made a stellar first impression, after all; Caeda glanced at the sword and whetstone.

Morgan was still smiling. It was a little unnerving. "So, Caeda. Buddy. I've got a question for you, if you don't mind."

Morgan's stare was intense. Goosebumps ran down Caeda's spine. "Y-Yes, ask away."

"Do you know how Einherjar obedience works?"

Caeda blinked. "N-No, I don't. How?"

Morgan hesitated. "Well, _I_ don't know. I was asking _you."_

"Oh…"

Morgan shrugged, still cheerful. "Oh, well!" She stood, grasping the sword in reverse grip and offering the weapon to Caeda. "It was worth a try."

Caeda tentatively accepted the bronze sword.

"Okay, Caeda. Would you mind standing?"

"Sure…?" Caeda stood.

"Great! Thanks, love." Morgan backed away a pace and put her hands on her hips, beaming widely. "Aight, here's a perfect view."

Caeda shook her head, uncomprehending. "I think I'm missing something…?"

"Okay. As tactician, and your master, I've got a little order for you." Morgan gestured at the sword in Caeda's hand. "Take that sword, and run yourself through with it."

The command took a long time to run through Caeda's mind. A tingle ran down her spine. "Wh-What?"

"I want you to impale yourself on that sword," said Morgan matter-of-factly.

"I-I don't think I understand…?"

"Hm, really?" Morgan asked. Her expression was still bright, and she continued to smile morbidly. "Then let me be clearer. I'm ordering you to pierce your stomach all the way through. I want to see the tip of that sword," she pointed at the sword, "emerging out of your back." She pointed at Caeda. "I want you to hold it, and twist it if you can, and see how long you can go without screaming. And I want you to keep it there—keep pushing in, keep twisting—until you finally can't hold it anymore. Then, you'll die." She took a step closer, still smiling. "Do you understand, now?"

Caeda's eyes were wide, and her skin was pale. Her grip on the sword tightened. "M-Morgan! Why?! Why would you want me to do that?!"

"Because it would be _hilarious,"_ Morgan sneered.

Caeda started to hyperventilate. "P-Please reconsider," she whispered. A tear shook out of her eye. "Please…"

Morgan tilted her head. "Reasoning won't work with me, Princess." Her smile vanished. Her young face stared at Caeda with contempt—despite being smaller and less fit than Caeda, Morgan still held a darkly intimidating presence. "And I am losing my patience. Caeda, I give you twenty seconds to stab yourself in the stomach. Twenty seconds."

Caeda stiffened. Her sword arm tensed, and shivered, and trembled—and slowly, it began to move.

Tears started to run from her eyes. "Morgan," she breathed. "Please… Please…"

Morgan crossed her arms, watching the sword.

 _I can't stop,_ Caeda thought. _I can't stop myself…!_

Caeda grasped the sword's hilt with both of her shaking hands, and lined it up over her stomach. "Morgan!" she sobbed. "Morgan, please…"

But Morgan was silent.

 _She's like a child… beating a dog just because she can!_ Caeda thought in horror. _I am merely her plaything!_

She shook her head, tears streaming. "I don't want to…" she sobbed. "I don't want to…"

Her hands started to tremble more violently, but she involuntarily squeezed the hilt tighter.

"I don't want to, Morgan," she whispered. "I don't…"

Morgan's hand covered her mouth.

 _Five seconds…_

Caeda's knuckles were white. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please…"

 _Two…_

Caeda let out a loud scream.

A sizzling hiss rang through the air, and suddenly Caeda's hands were free—the sword clattered away.

Morgan dropped her Thunder tome. Her eyes were red and moist. "Oh my gods…" she whispered, running a hand through her hair. "I can't believe you almost…"

Caeda immediately fell to her hands and knees and scrambled for the sword, all against her will. Her head pounded, and she couldn't even think—her twenty seconds were up. She reached for the hilt—

Morgan finally took notice; her eyes widened in alarm. "Oh my gods, _stop! STOP!_ B-Belay that order!"

The pressure fell away—Caeda dropped her hand and collapsed forward. She lay prone, shivering with sobs.

Morgan rolled Caeda over and took her by the shoulders, sitting her up. "Are you okay?! Caeda, answer me! Are you okay?!"

Caeda dazedly nodded. Fear built in her chest, she stared into Morgan's eyes—this girl tried to murder her—

"I'm so sorry," Morgan choked. "I'm so sorry…" She threw her arms around Caeda. "Oh my gods, oh my gods…"

Caeda still shivered and gasped for breath. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her face was fully red. "Morgan… why…? Why would you…?"

Morgan pulled away. Her face was similarly red, and tear lines traced her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Caeda… you didn't deserve that. Any of that…" She gradually pulled herself together, and she stood. "But I had to know."

"Know… what…?" Caeda panted.

"This was…" Morgan averted her eyes. "…a test. I needed to see how far you would go on an order, what the limit would be…" She glanced up at Caeda, grimacing. "And it turns out, there is no limit, because your will isn't even involved. If you want to follow an order, then you'll do it of your own accord—like when I asked you to stand, earlier. …But if you _don't_ want to… then the choice is taken away from you. You can try reasoning with me, you can question the order, but in the end, you _have_ to obey… And there are no loopholes." Morgan shook her head. "There was no way Marth could disobey Chrom… not an order that direct."

Caeda was still too dazed to realize Morgan had just mentioned Marth. "So… I'm… a test subject…" She shook her head. "Ha… hahaha…"

"I'm so sorry," Morgan whispered. "I promise, I'll never ask that of you—or of anyone else—ever again."

She made for the door.

When her hand rested on the doorknob, she turned around to face Caeda. The pegasus knight still sat on the floor, catching her breath, where Morgan had left her.

Morgan looked down, melancholy. "I'm sorry, Caeda. I hope you can forgive me."

She left.

* * *

Morgan lay wide awake in her bed. Cynthia was silently asleep in the other bed, Owain's snoring could be heard through the walls, and Caeda's final scream echoed.

Morgan could not close her eyes.

* * *

Knock, knock. Chrom was jostled awake. "C-Come in."

The head of his tactician poked in from the doorway. "Mornin', Captain. Old Hubba's back."

"Morning." Chrom rubbed his eye, sitting up and glancing at the sunlight filtering in from the window. Next to him, Maribelle was stirring. "Old Hubba, you said? Does he have news?"

"Seems like," Morgan said cheerfully. She wore deep bags under her eyes—Chrom briefly wondered if she had gotten any sleep, but dismissed the thought. "He's calling us in for the meeting. Lucy's already up and at 'em, rallying the rest of the Shepherds. Think you'll be ready in fifteen minutes?"

"Give me ten."

"Sure thing, Cap." Morgan shut the door.

* * *

Bits and pieces of Old Hubba's lecture floated in Chrom's ear, and out the other. He clasped his hands in front of his mouth, staring into space.

 _"I would like to test your arm someday," Marth noted. "I'm certain I could learn much."_

Chrom's eyes narrowed.

 _"I am not the Hero-King of which you speak… Merely a facsimile, of sorts."_

Marth's words resounded. _He had some kind of plan,_ Chrom thought slowly. _Some ulterior motive… But what? And what was worth sacrificing himself for?..._

A nudge at Chrom's leg startled him, and he glanced aside at Morgan. Morgan's eyes were fixed downwards on her notes, but she held a scrap of paper in her hand, and was offering it under the table to Chrom.

Chrom slowly accepted. He surreptitiously glanced down at the paper in his lap.

"Thinkn bout Marth?" the letter read.

Another nudge. Morgan was now handing him a spare pen.

Chrom glanced up at Hubba. The old man was jovially lecturing on, "Outrealm" this, "Einherjar" that, a small mention of an "Ephraim." He hadn't noticed Chrom and Morgan's exchange.

Chrom turned his attention back to the note, and appended, "Yes. Concerned about deception. Unclear details everywhere."

He stealthily returned the note.

After a moment, Morgan touched him again, and he accepted the new reply.

"Same. Sux. Maybe didnt die?"

Chrom furrowed his eyebrows. "You think?"

The immediate reply: "Dont worry bout it."

Without waiting for a response, Morgan handed him another one:

"Have u ever noticd that sum numbrs sound lik words?"

Chrom's eyes narrowed, and Morgan slipped another note under the table for him.

"OICU812"

Chrom tilted his head curiously. _Oh… I… see… you…. Oh. I get it._ He wrote underneath the line, "Your being silly, Morgan. We've no time for jokes."

After finally getting all that writing on the letter, correcting "your" to "you're", and sliding the letter to Morgan, he patiently pretended to listen to Old Hubba's lecture while waiting on Morgan's response.

Finally, he felt paper brush against his hand, and he took the letter. "Y r u writin evrythng corectly? Savs tim if u abbrev."

Chrom was already prepared for a well-spelled response, but Morgan's hand touched his again, and he accepted another letter.

"5318008"

Chrom frowned, perplexed. _What could this mean?_ The numbers didn't seem to sound like anything. He ran through several tactical ideas in his head—troop placement, number of Einherjar, who knows—before he noticed more text underneath the string of numbers.

"Turn upside down. :)"

Chrom obeyed.

He was not amused.

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 8 – **Smash Brethren**_


	8. Smash Brethren

Chapter 8: **Smash Brethren**

* * *

The Shepherds were dispersing from the conference room. Chrom hadn't heard much of the lecture, but he got the gist—more Einherjar, another Outrealm, sexy ladies, yadda yadda.

Rather than trying to recall the details of Old Hubba's inane perverseness, Chrom instead gathered Lucina, Brady, and Morgan, and pulled them aside as the remainder of the group listed towards the Outrealm Gate.

Chrom crossed his arms as the four of them huddled. "So. Elephant in the room: Marth."

"I thought we said we'd let this go for now?" Lucina asked.

"We have time to talk," Morgan said. "Might as well toss some ideas around. Compare notes."

Lucina shrugged. "Fair enough."

"So what do we know?" Chrom asked.

"The card was a fake," said Morgan.

"Marth had an ulterior motive," said Lucina.

"And, uh… I think I'm outta the loop," said Brady.

Chrom looked at his daughter. "What makes you say that, Lucina?"

Lucina winced. "His, er… his last words to me. He told me to find Seliph."

"Seliph?" Chrom felt his suspicions practically confirmed. "So, did you talk to him?"

"Yes, but he was cryptic and unhelpful," Lucina said. "Pretended to know nothing, but still hinted that the card was fake." She shook her head. "…Something I should've realized in the first place. The artwork wasn't perfect, the card was less rigid than it was before, and it weighed less than Caeda's card… but I was so blinded that I refused to accept that possibility."

"All's forgiven." Morgan turned to Chrom. "Anyway, I did some… uh… testing, yesterday. Figuring out the mechanics of Einherjar obedience. Turns out, Einherjar _are_ compelled to obey orders even if it forces them to do something out-of-character. If it _would_ be in character for them to obey, then they would obey without question, and you can even talk them into doing gray-area stuff, but they get a _lot_ more upset when you tell them to do something they don't want to do."

She took a breath. Caeda had shot Morgan many a sharp glare since their interaction the previous night. "A _lot_ more upset."

"Well that's…" Lucina trailed off. "Wait, what did you do?"

"Don't worry about it."

Morgan seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable, leading to an awkward pause. A silent agreement to drop the subject was slowly reached.

Chrom took the quiet time to think. "So… since he could disobey a direct order, it's possible that Marth was somehow never under our command. …Or… not under _my_ command." He crossed his arms. "Did..."

A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Old Hubba's Warp Powder," he said. "Yesterday, the old man said he lost it!"

"Really?" Morgan asked. "Could he have… misplaced it?"

"No, no," Chrom said, "I think Marth took it somehow…"

Brady snapped his fingers. "Ay. Didn'ee bump shoulders with Hubba after we had our chat with Algol? On Talys."

"He did," Lucina said. _He was masking his sleight of hand under an angry façade…_

"And when we thought we killed him…" said Chrom slowly, "…he actually used the powder to warp away."

"Those were warping runes. Not his death throes," Lucina finished. "Marth is still alive!"

"Nuh-uh."

The group turned to Brady.

The healer crossed his arms. "Sorry, guys, but that ain't what's goin' on. Whatever's happenin', Marth still died."

Morgan frowned. "What? What do you mean?"

"I wasn't lyin' before," Brady continued. "That was an honest-to-goodness stab wound, courtesy of Falchion. Deep wound right in the chest, inches below the heart. When I told ya, "ain't no staff gonna heal that wound," I _meant_ "ain't no staff gonna heal that wound.""

The others all sighed, practically as one. Except for Morgan, whose sigh went on way too long.

"So Marth is not the mastermind, then," Lucina murmured dejectedly. "Someone else is behind the scenes."

"Seliph," Chrom said, scowling. "He's our manipulator."

 _"Potentially_ Seliph," Morgan cautioned. "He's shifty, sure, but for all we know, he reports to whoever Marth reported to."

Chrom folded his arms. "Reported to…. Old Hubba, maybe?"

"Can't be, or else Marth wouldn'ta wanted us to keep 'im in the dark," Brady added.

"Algol, then?" Lucina posited.

"What goal could Algol have that would involve Marth dying? He gained nothing from that. He even lost Caeda."

Head-scratching ensued.

To end the silence, an extra voice piped in: "I hope I'm not interrupting…"

The four Shepherds turned to face the voice.

Seliph took a step closer, smiling courteously. "…But I have some information that I believe you will find very helpful in the battle to come."

* * *

The Outrealm Gate glowed on the edge of the woods. Most of the Shepherds were already gathered outside, outfitting for the battle to come.

Morgan briefed Chrom as they walked. "So, the old man said—well, not _my_ old man, heheh, _the_ old man, I meant—he said this fight's gonna be happening at the Dragon's Gate."

"You were paying attention?"

"Ha! No, I was bored out of my skull. Lyn was listening, though. …I should really just have her be my ears at these from now on."

Chrom scratched his chin. "The Dragon's Gate… What legends are those from?"

"Elibe. In fact, good ol' Lyn was actually familiar with the place. It's where she, Eliwood, and Hector had their final battle."

"Hector?"

Morgan waved it away. "We don't have him yet."

"Oh…"

"Anyway, Lyn was nice enough to give me a layout of the place. Pretty handy. And not only that, she also helped me map out a stealthy way to sneak around the enemy—perfect for the little strike team that Seliph suggested."

Chrom slowly stopped, pursing his lips. Morgan stopped as well.

"What's up, Captain?"

Chrom shook his head. "Can we really trust Seliph?"

"Yes."

Chrom was surprised; Morgan's answer was immediate. "Why so certain?"

"Think about it," said Morgan. "Why would he give us that information? It can't be for a trap, because we're _all_ going to be there, not just the team. That is, once we deal with Ephraim and Eirika's group, we can easily move to back up the Sneak Squad."

"Sneak Squad? Really?"

Morgan shrugged, grinning. "Sorry. _I_ thought it was good. Catchy, even."

Chrom rolled his eyes. "Whatever. We should get going." He turned to start walking, but Morgan caught his arm, with an actual, serious look on her face.

"Captain." Morgan released him. "I don't think you should participate today."

"What?" said Chrom, appalled. "Out of the question. I always fight."

"You shouldn't use the Outrealm Gate," Morgan pressed. "Same reason we aren't letting the Manaketes fight: your health is compromised by that damn door!" She crossed her arms. "So, as tactician, I'm gonna have to make you sit this one out, sir."

"Overruled," said Chrom instantly. "I'm the Exalt, and I get the final word. I'm fighting."

"Chrom—"

Chrom noticed her use of his actual name, and the genuine concern in her voice, but he interrupted her anyway. "Morgan, I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. It's been several voyages since I've actually gotten sick from the Outrealm Gate. The trips to and from Jungby were totally fine, and so was the final return trip from Talys. I've gotten used to it, trust me." He grinned confidently. "And even if I _was_ sick, I'd still be needed. So, again, thanks for the concern, but I'm fighting today." He patted her on the shoulder. "Now let's get moving."

Morgan looked down. "…O-Okay. If you say so, Captain."

Chrom sighed irritably as he resumed walking. First Sumia, then Severa, and now the Manaketes. The party continued to dwindle. At least Cynthia was back in action…

 _I'll be damned if I'm the next one out,_ Chrom thought.

He soon found himself standing before the Outrealm Gate. Most of the other Shepherds awaited on the other side.

Morgan clasped her hands, watching Chrom apprehensively. "…After you, Captain."

"Right."

Chrom braced himself and shouldered his way into the new Outrealm.

A swirl of lights and colors, as before. Chrom felt a weight pressing on his chest.

It seemed to last for an eternity. Spots flashed behind Chrom's eyes, and he began to grow lightheaded.

Suddenly, the pressure released, and he found himself staggering to all fours, dry-heaving onto the green floor tiles below him.

The lightheadedness didn't go away. It was—like—like he had been lying in bed, sound asleep, and was forced to awaken and stand on his feet—he couldn't collect his thoughts, nor could he keep his balance. And he still felt a weight on his chest, though not nearly as heavy as it was during the portal transport. He was soon lying on his side, wheezing miserably.

He felt hands shaking him, and his thoughts slowly coalesced. Glancing up, he saw Morgan among the many faces huddling overhead.

"Are you all right?!" Morgan exclaimed once again. "Chrom, answer me!"

Chrom couldn't help but chuckle weakly. "Man… bad timing for that, huh? Really put a hole in my argument earlier..."

Morgan laughed, relieved, and soon had Chrom on his feet. "Geez. That was scary, Captain."

"I know." Chrom ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "That's the worst it's been by far."

"Once we're done here, we _have_ to find a cure for Outrealm Sickness," Morgan insisted. "There has to be a way."

Chrom nodded. His head was mostly clear, but the attack had left behind a familiar headache. _Great._

"A-Anyway, we're here," continued Morgan, gesturing at the long hall stretching out before them. "This is the Dragon's Gate. …Really green, isn't it?"

* * *

The hall led to a wide chamber—a _very_ wide chamber, and twice as long. Not to mention green. "Like, REALLY green," Morgan noted.

Along each side of the chamber were small hallways: three on each side, each leading to a door (if Lyn's testimony was accurate). At the opposite end of the enormous chamber was a long stairway leading up to a massive pair of doors.

 _Wide sight lines,_ Chrom noted. _I hope Morgan had a plan for getting that team through here unnoticed._

Approaching the party was a spot of color amid the endless green—red and gold, with blue hair. She firmly grasped a rapier, held aloft, and she came to a halt at a safe distance from the Shepherds.

"Who are you?"

The woman's voice echoed through the chamber. Chrom gestured at the others to stay put, and moved forward.

"My name is Chrom."

"That's close enough, Sir Chrom."

Chrom raised his hands peacefully as he stopped. "Very well. You are?"

"Eirika." She tightened her grip on her rapier. "Princess of Renais."

"Renais…" Chrom murmured. "Magvel, hm?"

"What is your business here?" Eirika shouted. "None may pass through."

"Why not?" Chrom asked.

"Because—" Eirika briefly faltered. _Because… I was told to, by…_

She summoned up her courage. "That is irrelevant! You are trespassing, sir."

"No, I'm afraid I'm exactly where I need to be." Chrom crossed his arms. "Tell me where Algol is."

Eirika shook her head. "Algol? He's…" She frowned; her sword arm slowly lowered. "I don't know… B-But that doesn't concern you! Turn back, Sir Chrom, or this may come to violence."

"I don't want that to happen," said Chrom. "That's the last thing I want. I want us to be able to resolve this peacefully. Do you think that is possible, Lady Eirika?"

"I—I wish that as well, but I cannot simply allow you to walk through." Her sword was now by her side, but she still gripped the hilt tightly.

"Why not?" Chrom asked. "Tell me why, and I may just turn back around. However, if you can offer no good reason, then I will have to force my way through."

Eirika was wrestling with herself. _I don't know! I simply don't…_ "Sir Chrom…" She held her breath. Slowly, she let that breath go. "…I have no such reason. I cannot explain to you why…"

"Then let me through," Chrom insisted, taking a step closer. "We must stop Algol. He is a wicked man, and he has been manipulating you for far too long. Surrender peacefully, milady—there is no need for bloodshed."

"Manipulating…?"

Another step closer. "My lady, try to remember where you last were. Remember the last time you saw Magvel."

Eirika's head began to hurt. "I… I…"

"It is a terrible truth, but it's the truth regardless." Chrom walked closer. "None of this has been your fault, or any of your companions' fault. All the blame is on Algol." He was now an arm's length away. "Join us, Lady Eirika. There should be no fight today."

Chrom offered a hand—his right hand, free of a weapon. Eirika's, contrarily, continued to hold the rapier.

Eirika stared down at Chrom's hand, severely tempted.

Back with the other Shepherds, Morgan crossed her fingers. _Please work, please work, please work._

A bead of sweat ran down Chrom's brow. He was running a grave risk here—if Eirika refused, her weapon was…

Eirika's grip tightened on her rapier. Chrom winced.

Then, at last, her grip relaxed. She returned the weapon to its sheath, reached forward, and shook Chrom's hand.

"I believe you, milord." Eirika smiled. "Very well. I surrender."

Morgan let out the breath she had been holding. _She surrenders! I was right!_

Chrom let out the breath he had been holding. "Whew! I really appreciate that, Eirika. Thanks for believing in me."

Eirika looked down. "Some say I am too gullible… too trusting." She looked back up at Chrom. "But the way I see it, those who cannot trust can never know peace. And you—your eyes—I _know_ I can trust you, Sir Chrom."

"Very well said, milady. I, for one, value that innocence."

Eirika smiled. "Thank you. Now, my brother lies in wait, hidden in one of the six chambers around us—I will go relay what you have told me, and talk him down. He'll listen to me if I go alone."

"Sure. Godspeed, Lady Eirika."

Eirika hurried away.

Chrom turned around and exchanged shrugs with Morgan.

* * *

Knock, knock. Knock.

 _That odd knock could only belong to Sister._ Ephraim slowly pushed the ancient door open and greeted Eirika. "What's the matter?"

Eirika smiled. "Hello, Brother. I have good news."

"Really?" Ephraim leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. "Well, I'm all ears."

"It's about the—"

Eirika lurched.

A second passed before Ephraim reacted. "Wh—?" He blinked. _"Eirika!"_

He quickly moved to her, catching her in his arms as she collapsed.

A long, slender arrow protruded from her back.

Eirika sputtered blood from her mouth, her eyes wide in shock. "Chr-Chrom," she whispered. "He's… n-not our…"

Her eyes closed, ignorant to Ephraim's cries of her name.

"No! _No!"_ Ephraim shouted, shaking her. _"Eirika!"_

Ephraim watched, horrified, as Eirika began to dissolve into a midnight-blue flame. Soon, she had entirely disappeared, leaving nothing behind but… a small card.

Ephraim felt tears in his eyes, and as he grasped Eirika's card, his sorrow began to mold into a rich fury.

And he was armed with a name. "Chrom," he growled. He stowed the card in his pocket as he stood. "You die today."

* * *

The lone sniper retreated to the shadows from whence she had come.

* * *

Morgan looked around, antsy. "Chrom—this isn't looking good. There are bad guys coming from everywhere. Must be a couple dozen of them, too."

"I noticed," Chrom said grimly. "As long as we don't get surrounded… Let's keep our backs to the entrance."

"Took the words out of my—"

"CHROM!"

The shout echoed deafeningly through the massive chamber of the Dragon's Gate. The speaker was striding towards the center of the room—a blue-haired man, with a massive red lance in his hand. He stopped in the center of the chamber, in the cross where all tiles aligned, and faced Chrom. He carried hate in his eyes.

"Chrom, you have committed the gravest error a man could commit," Ephraim snarled. "You have taken from me the one I hold most dear. To reward your murder, I sentence you and the rest of your band to death."

"Murder?" Chrom asked. He put the pieces together. "…Eirika is dead?"

"I'm certain not by your sacred hand," mocked Ephraim. "You had an archer do the deed for you. _Coward._ I'll enjoy watching you pay for your crime!"

"Wait! I didn't—"

"Spare me!" Ephraim shouted, and pointed his lance at the Shepherds. "Brave allies—execute these lying, cowardly scum! And as for Chrom—he's _mine!"_

The Shepherds prepared for combat as Ephraim's army approached.

* * *

This was by far the largest engagement the Shepherds had faced in the Outrealms so far. For the first time, the Einherjar outnumbered the Shepherds, if only slightly. Morgan _had_ limited the number of allies to bring, however, given the relative tightness of the Dragon's Gate's corridors—roughly twenty fighters occupied each faction in this battle.

And the Einherjar did not hold back. Fueled by their rage against Eirika's ostensible murderers, the enemy fought with all their strength.

Still, it was nothing the Shepherds couldn't handle, right?

* * *

As Ephraim began to swing his lance, Chrom caught a brief glimpse of flames following the weapon's arc through the air. He shoved forward with the Fire Emblem to deflect the strike.

Ephraim twirled his lance, undeterred, and clashed against Chrom's sword and shield time and time again. Ephraim sported an incredibly aggressive fighting style, and as the two lords went head-to-head again and again, flames and sparks cascaded from their powerful weapons colliding.

Chrom relented for a moment, and began to circle Ephraim. "This fight is pointless, you know," he said.

Ephraim, contrarily, held his ground, simply following Chrom with his eyes. He twirled his weapon—Siegmund, the Flame Lance. "I tire of talking," he said.

"We are not your enemy!" Chrom said. "Don't throw your lives away."

"You misunderstand, Chrom." Ephraim crouched, aiming. "I don't pick fights I can't win."

Ephraim stabbed at Chrom, testing his defenses. A few more stabs, and he had what he needed.

He squeezed the lance tighter. _Time to try._

A red light traveled down the lance from end-to-end, as though a fire ran underneath the surface.

Ephraim swung the lance powerfully, anticipating Chrom's guard with that apparently unbreakable shield. Before, the lance would have bounced off of the shield, as a normal lance would.

Siegmund, however, was no normal lance.

The power of the attack was such that the Fire Emblem did not impede Siegmund's path. Chrom was thrown off of his feet by the attack.

Ephraim leapt onto Chrom, already angling his lance for the killing blow. Chrom reacted in time, swiping the lance away with Falchion and causing it to stab into the ground next to him.

Ephraim growled in frustration and punched Chrom in the jaw with his other hand. Chrom likewise bashed Ephraim with the Fire Emblem, dislodging the lord from him.

Chrom was on his feet first, and Ephraim was vulnerable for a brief moment as he struggled to his own feet. Chrom tensed his sword hand, but then stayed his killing strike.

 _I have to take him alive,_ he reminded himself.

He shook his head irritably and backed away a pace instead, the window of opportunity gone.

Ephraim wiped blood from his lip, and stared at the blood on his hand quietly, before looking back at Chrom. Without a word, he dived back into combat.

Chrom parried an attack, and intended to throw out one of his own, but Ephraim was quick enough to continue his own assault and remove Chrom's opportunity at retaliation.

Ephraim's teeth were bared in exertion, and so were Chrom's. Ephraim's constant aggression was new to Chrom, or at least, aggression from a capable opponent. In Chrom's experience, the more experienced the lanceman, the more defensive their style grew—Sumia, Cordelia, Kellam, Cynthia… And similarly for Marth, a swordsman. All used defensive styles.

Come to think of it, Ephraim was virtually Marth's antithesis. Where Marth was a swordfighter who fought like a lanceman, Ephraim was the opposite.

His aggression constantly kept Chrom on his toes, and his lance was incredibly powerful, meaning Chrom's defenses were constantly falling at the wayside of mirrored offense.

Chrom grinned confidently. This was _much_ more fun.

Chrom ducked under a swing—the blade of Siegmund radiated heat as it passed overhead—and struck at Ephraim with his shield. Ephraim took the Fire Emblem in his gut, groaning in pain.

Chrom raised Falchion again, but again, stayed his hand.

In stopping the unconscious killing strike, Chrom was forced to consciously plan his immediate move—easier said than done in the middle of a fight. He settled on pummeling Ephraim with the pommel of Falchion, but the decision came too late: Ephraim shoved Chrom away, and coughed once as the two circled each other again.

Chrom kicked himself. He had to get out of this killing mindset—this fight would never end if he couldn't knock Ephraim unconscious. And the two windows to end this fight that he had already missed would not open again.

Ephraim was learning. As the fight continued on, Ephraim picked at holes in Chrom's defense, and he exploited repetitive habits in Chrom's offense. As usual, Chrom gritted his teeth and mixed things up each time in order to keep Ephraim guessing: don't attack here when you did last time, dodge instead of block next time, use Falchion here instead of the Fire Emblem…

Ephraim leapt at Chrom, surprisingly, and swatted aside the Fire Emblem and Falchion in a clean swing. He turned his lance on the staggered Chrom and stabbed.

Chrom grunted as he twisted to the side, dodging the fatal strike. However, Ephraim still had the momentary advantage.

Ephraim lunged for Chrom's throat with his hand, but Chrom again sidestepped. Ephraim spun Siegmund at him once again, and Chrom had barely enough time to bring up the Fire Emblem in defense.

The immense blow flung the shield out of Chrom's grip. It slid across the tile floor and disappeared into the commotion.

Chrom grasped Falchion with both hands and slashed horizontally; Ephraim blocking the attack finally signaled an end to Ephraim's brief burst of momentum.

 _This is bad,_ Chrom thought. _No shield… Now I practically can't block at all._

He adjusted his stance. Now, he held his sword next to his ear, horizontally, with the tip aiming at his opponent. Lucina's stance.

Ephraim twirled Siegmund as he patiently circled Chrom.

A drop of sweat ran down Chrom's cheek. He was trying something new, and he hoped it wouldn't backfire.

Ephraim tested the waters with a slash of Siegmund, evidently to judge Chrom's guard again.

Chrom attempted to power the blow away, to echo Lucina's technique during her fight with Marth. Unfortunately, unlike that fight, where Lucina and Marth's swords had been of equal strength, Chrom's Falchion was significantly weaker than Siegmund.

Regardless, Chrom tried: he put all his strength behind the swing, and he succeeded in repelling Ephraim's attack. Sadly, that was all he could really do, as the weight behind his attack had put him in a very poor stance to capitalize on Ephraim's vulnerability.

Chrom did recover first, however, and tried to carry this momentum. He struck at Ephraim with a number of quick stabs (still trying Lucina's thing), and to his glee, he finally succeeded at landing a significant cut on Ephraim's arm.

His confidence disappeared when he realized how he had landed that cut: Ephraim took the hit in exchange for launching an attack of his own. Chrom twisted in defense, but could not avoid the hot blade drawing a long gash across Chrom's hip.

Chrom grunted and clutched his bleeding hip, also returning to his normal stance. _Guess I should leave that sort of thing to Lucina,_ he thought sullenly.

Ephraim waited. Having scored a deep wound on Chrom, Ephraim no longer had the burden of offense in this fight: all he needed to do was wait, and when Chrom inevitably attacked, he would do so at a disadvantage.

Chrom released his hip (wincing) and grasped Falchion. "Last chance," he grunted.

"Your last chance is exhausted, actually." Ephraim brandished Siegmund.

"Fine then!"

Chrom sliced Falchion across the air. It wasn't often that he used this technique—these days, he rarely faced a tough enough challenge to require its use.

However, this time, he didn't have Lucina to tap out for.

The ancient skill of Aether ran through Falchion. Sol and Luna, together.

Chrom lunged forward, an orange tint on his blade, but he whiffed the first slash—Ephraim was quick on his feet.

Ephraim would have to be quicker, however, as the second hit was much more lethal. The second, blue, armor-piercing attack made a beeline for Ephraim. And Ephraim—who had never seen this technique before, and did not know what to expect—made the worst possible decision by trying to block it.

Falchion was weaker than Siegmund, yes—even fully Awakened, Falchion's might paled before the Flame Lance. But there was one thing that separated the two even further.

Unlike Falchion, Siegmund was not unbreakable.

The second hit of Aether, Luna, coursed through Falchion as it cleaved the shaft of Siegmund in two and imbedded into Ephraim's shoulder.

Chrom's momentum threw both lords onto the ground with Chrom on top. Falchion buried deeper into Ephraim's shoulder, causing the prince to cry out in agony; his hands grasped at Chrom's, trying to pry them off of the sword.

"Surrender!" Chrom commanded, ignoring his own pain and pushing the sword deeper. "Give up!"

Ephraim clenched his teeth, his eyes shooting to the side.

 _"Surrender!"_ Chrom ordered again.

"Y-You murdered her," Ephraim hissed quietly. "I'll never yield."

Ephraim reached out to the side and grasped the severed head of Siegmund. He clamped his teeth together tightly from exertion. He looked back at Chrom, and drove a half-foot of hot steel into the Exalt's side.

Chrom cried out in pain. Stars flashed in his eyes, and instinct took over. He removed the Falchion from Ephraim's shoulder—and he quickly returned it, deep into Ephraim's chest.

Ephraim's eyes went wide, and he sputtered blood wordlessly.

Chrom roared loudly, and he twisted the exalted blade; more blood rushed from the mortal wound. Ephraim briefly contorted, his fingers curling as though grasping at something—

Then he fell back. Ephraim's eyes were wide open and empty.

Dead.

Chrom panted heavily, leaning on Falchion for support. His arm was wrapped around his abdomen, trying to stem the flow of blood from his side.

Particles of azure fire rose from Ephraim's corpse. More, and more. Soon, Ephraim was dissolving into a midnight-blue flame, leaving no trace behind.

All of Ephraim was soon alight with heatless fire, encompassing Chrom. Chrom simply looked around, dazed, at the mesmerizing blaze.

 _Fire,_ he thought, and he laughed weakly. _It's supposed to be fire…_

A card clattered to the ground amidst the flames. It had been in Ephraim's pocket.

The fires crawled toward what had been Ephraim's abdomen, all coalescing in the center spot. Soon, when all of the flames had returned home, the fires disappeared. Left behind was the Einherjar card of Ephraim.

It settled on the ground next to its sister.

Chrom's arm failed, and he fell forward. Falchion clattered out of his grip.

* * *

The remaining Einherjar fell soon after. No other casualties.

Chrom was sitting in a corner, leaning against the wall. He stared down at the floor.

Emmeryn paused her staff. "How are you feeling?"

Chrom looked around. The Shepherds' healers were really earning their paychecks today—nobody had escaped this fight without injury. Thankfully, the allied Einherjar were there to help as well; Chrom exchanged a nod with Natasha as she passed by.

Chrom turned back to Emmeryn. "Not great."

Emmeryn smiled. "It'll be okay… This wound shouldn't bother you for more than a few days."

Chrom rubbed his eyes with his free hand. (His other one, at Emmeryn's insistence, lay still as she worked on that hip.) "Not really what I meant, Emm… I killed Ephraim."

Emmeryn resumed healing. "Didn't you say he refused to yield…?"

"Yeah," Chrom said. He closed his eyes. "Celica could be talked down… Eirika could be talked down. But Ephraim couldn't. And neither could Marth. Their drive prevented them from doing it, and it was more than orders."

"Yes… They are more human than we thought." Emmeryn smiled. "I find the idea… er… romantic. It's as if the ancient heroes… are truly among us."

"Heh… I guess."

"Open your eyes, please. Don't want you to fall asleep…"

"Mmph." Chrom reluctantly blinked his eyes open.

The chatter of the room faded into the background, lulling him into a peaceful state. He sighed.

"It's been so long since I've killed," Chrom said. "Last December was the final battle with Grima… then nothing for months and months. What day was it when we entered the Outrealms… August Fifth? …I wonder how much time has passed back home, if it's been three days here…"

Chrom was losing focus. He tried to concentrate, but he was so sleepy.

"I killed the dissonant Grima last week, sure… but then we entered the Outrealms, and I thought, 'Geez. We're going to have to kill again…' But we didn't, we could just take everyone alive." He chuckled dimly. "How many did we take? I could ask Morgan… but it's something like fifty Einherjar, right? Fifty people defeated, not killed… I actually started to entertain the thought that we wouldn't have to kill anyone while we were here, not even Algol."

Emmeryn frowned.

"I didn't think I had a problem with killing," Chrom continued. "I killed so many during the last two wars. Gotta be dozens of Plegians and Valmese and Grimleal…"

"It's natural to not wish to take lives, I think," Emmeryn said. "You got… out of practice, so to speak, and you realized how much you appreciated… not having to kill."

Chrom nodded. "Guess so…" He nodded over at the center of the chamber, where Ephraim had fallen. His heart sank. "It had been so long, it felt like it was my first kill all over again." _And Grima didn't count—I pretty much just finished him off. Nah did the real fighting then, but with Ephraim, it was all me, every step of the way…_

"Your first kill…" Emmeryn mused. "Do you remember it?"

"Vividly," said Chrom. "Me and Vaike, we were out hunting… when we were ambushed by… was it bandits? Or Plegians? …I figure I'd remember if it were Plegians… so bandits. Um…" He frowned, concentrating. _Maybe not so vividly._

Emmeryn suppressed a giggle.

"Yeah… I only had a hatchet, and I killed the guy. I was… thirteen. Twelve? …Fourteen?" He shook his head, closing his eyes. "It doesn't matter… I was real shaken up about it, but you were so nice to me afterwards, Emm."

Emmeryn winced; she couldn't remember that, of course. Chrom was hardly in a state for tact, so, ignoring that, she asked, "Eyes open, please…"

Chrom sighed as he obeyed. He inspected his sister's face. "Emm… I can't remember, but have you killed?"

 _Oh._ Emmeryn pursed her lips, and nodded slowly. She fixed her gaze on the wound she was mending.

"Do you remember it?"

"Always," she said quietly.

She had only ever killed one person. She had witnessed many, many deaths, but only one had been by her hand.

"Ardri," Emmeryn murmured.

Chrom shook his head. He didn't remember.

"The Grimleal who attacked the village," she said quietly. _The one who murdered so many village girls. The one who murdered Rjorn…_

"Oh," Chrom said. "Him… I hardly remember him, I was so distracted by you." He tilted his head. "Did it feel good, to get revenge? He killed a lot of people, I heard." _Oof. Now that I mention it, Robin told me not to bring this up. Eh, whatever._

Emmeryn was relieved that Chrom had not read her journal. If he knew about Rjorn, she would get pity, and she did not want pity.

"It did, in a sense. He taught me that… not everyone is entitled to life. That killing is sometimes the right thing to do." _A lesson I'd learned before, yet ignored._

"Oh…"

"Also I threw up and passed out afterwards," she said, glancing up at him, "so there's that."

* * *

Chrom walked stiffly. The bandages were thoroughly uncomfortable, and the wound still hurt—like a bitch, in fact—but he was alive, and he could walk on his own.

 _Guess that makes today a victory,_ he thought dryly. _Well… after this last hurdle._

The Outrealm Gate stood ahead of him, glowing innocently, but Chrom just knew that dastardly door had nefarious plans in store for him.

"I don't wanna," he muttered.

Morgan laughed. "I bet. You'll be okay, though. Emmeryn?"

Emmeryn nodded. "I'll be waiting for you on the other side. I'll catch you if you fall… okay?"

Chrom nodded, forcing a smile for her. She touched his arm, then left through the arcane portal.

"Gah… I don't want to faint in front of Emm," Chrom complained.

"Good gods you sound tired," Morgan said, surprised. "Never heard you whine so much, Captain."

"Hush," Chrom said, grouchy. "Let's just get this over with."

Chrom winced, preparing himself, and marched through the portal.

* * *

Chrom staggered onto green soil, his hand grasping at his chest as he panted for air. He waved off Emmeryn, muttering, "Just gotta… catch my breath." He grasped his side, as well; it felt like all his staggering about had pulled a stitch or two.

"Let me take you to the infirmary…" Emmeryn murmured, concerned. "We'll fix you right up."

"Mansion… has an infirmary?" Chrom asked. Morgan shrugged. "How big?"

"'Conference room' big," Morgan said.

"Works for me," Chrom replied. "Infirmary it is. B-Bring the new Einherjar in there… I'll explain, like before."

"You sure? Pretty much any of us on the senior staff can do that."

Chrom nodded. "I'm sure."

"'Kay…"

Morgan looped Chrom's arm around her shoulder and helped him walk. Emmeryn took his other arm.

Chrom grimaced. _This trip through the Gate wasn't nearly as bad as before… but it's far from acceptable._

* * *

Morgan soon left to gather the rest of the Einherjar, leaving Emmeryn as Chrom's crutch.

"Lord Chrom!" came a voice from behind: Seliph's. "Did everything go well?"

"Peachy," Chrom muttered. "Haven't heard from Maribelle yet, though. Say, where's the old man?"

"He left," said Seliph. "Off looking for more Einherjar. …It seems that he may be gone for a while, in fact."

"Is that right. Thanks, Seliph."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

Morgan was only now realizing her room was right above the infirmary: she could hear Chrom's voice from below. Couldn't make out the words, mind you, but…

There was a gentle knocking at the open door behind her. She hastily stood, knocking over some of her papers, and she started combing her hair with her fingers. _I should really close that door!_

A small girl with purple hair stood in the doorway. Well, not small as in young, small as in—well, the girl _did_ seem young, but that's not what—

"Hi," the newcomer said quietly. "Are you… a tactician?"

Morgan smiled. "Y-Yep! The Shepherds' tactician, as a matter of fact. Name's Morgan."

"I'm actually an aspiring tactician myself," the girl said. "I-I'm not really good at it… I mean, I did just get thrashed back at the Dragon's Gate…"

"It wasn't all bad," Morgan said cheerfully. "Really, if I were you, I would've used the hidden rooms more, though. You could've concealed your reinforcements _much_ better."

"I wanted to, but Ephraim had gotten really mad there at the end, and he insisted I… um…" She waved it away. "Water under the bridge, I guess. We're on the same side now, right?"

"Guess so!" Morgan offered a hand. "I'd be happy to talk tactics with you. What's your name?"

The purple-haired girl smiled, and shook Morgan's hand. "My name is Katarina. It's a pleasure to meet you, Morgan."

* * *

The infirmary was nearly empty; the rest of the Einherjar had been filled in and left. Turned out that Hector was one of them. Who knew. Lyn and Eliwood would be happy about that.

As of now, Chrom was echoing his explanation to the three latecomers: one of them had been caught up in a conversation with Shanna, while the other two…

Princess Eirika, Prince Ephraim, and Lord Roy sat on the bed next to Chrom's.

Chrom sat up, his hands folded in his lap. "…So yeah. Real fun stuff, this Einherjar business." He softened. "I'm sorry if… this comes as too much of a shock, or…"

"No, no," Eirika said quickly. "It's no issue at all! I'm sorry that we harassed you before, if what you're saying is true."

"It's unreal," Ephraim muttered. "It's been no time at all since we were in Darkling Woods, and yet we are here."

Chrom's eyes were locked on Ephraim. The corpse…

Roy crossed his arms, quiet.

"Well… if… if that's all," Chrom said. "There are many other people here who knew you. Natasha, for example?"

Eirika brightened. "Ah, Natasha! It would be wonderful to see her again." She faced Ephraim. "Shall we go?"

Ephraim was still serious. "…This isn't right, Eirika. It all feels…" He grasped at his vocabulary for a better word than 'wrong.'

"That seems like the sane response," Chrom chuckled. "I'd be skeptical, too."

Ephraim seemed unconvinced, but regardless, he stood and offered a firm hand for Chrom. "I look forward to working with you, sir."

Chrom stared at Ephraim's hand. That same hand was the reason Chrom was currently bedridden instead of standing at the fore of the conference room.

Ephraim's expression was serious, but it was a far cry from the hate his eyes had held merely hours before.

His breastplate was intact. It held its scars from the War of the Stones, but lacked the gaping hole Chrom had left in it earlier.

These differences were jarring.

"…Likewise, Prince Ephraim." Chrom shook Ephraim's hand, and winced at the strong grip; it shot pains through his arm and side. Thankfully, Ephraim quickly let go.

The two heroes of Magvel departed the infirmary.

Chrom noticed Roy was lingering. "What's the matter?" he enquired.

"I—" Roy began, but was interrupted as the door opened.

Chrom smiled at the faces entering the room: Lucina, Brady, Maribelle… and Priam? Chrom's face fell slightly, confused. Priam hadn't been part of the strike team, last Chrom heard.

 _The, uh… Sneak Squad,_ Chrom thought, smiling in spite of himself. _Okay, okay, it's a catchy name. You win this round, Morgan._

"So, how did your mission go?" Chrom asked.

Roy felt he shouldn't be listening to this, so he inclined his head respectfully and said, "Excuse me, milord."

He left the medical wing.

* * *

Hours had passed. Hours that Roy had tried to fill with conversation; he had chatted with bubbling Shanna, spoken to cool-headed Fir, and even held a pleasant conversation with a young Uncle Hector (in which he did all he could to avoid addressing the elephant in _that_ room).

Now, morning was behind him, and a warm afternoon had arisen—a sleepy afternoon. The timeless mansion was quiet.

Roy walked aimlessly through the halls, lost in thought. He realized he could use some fresh air.

"Einherjar," he mused, as he opened the front door to the mansion.

This was a very depressing concept. He knew the others felt the same way he did—the same despair at having their futures ripped away from them, the horrors of not being the person you thought you were. A dire situation, but… not an altogether hopeless one, not in the gentle hands of the Shepherds.

Roy growled in frustration as he paced through the grass. If this had happened during _his_ lifetime, this would have had an easy solution—the same as the solution to any of Roy's problems. 'Talk to Lilina.'

Lilina could cheer him up no matter what the problem was. Stomachache? Lilina had a remedy. Ennui? Lilina had a game. War being hell, as it does? Lilina had encouraging words.

 _This would all be much, much easier if I had Lilina,_ Roy thought, sighing. _But I guess I'll have to make do without._

Movement. Roy was alerted, and his hand reached for the bright sword on his hip. He crouched slightly, wary of any threats.

The shadow stepped forward, revealing itself to be a man—a young man, but still probably a few years older than Roy.

Roy didn't drop his guard. "Who are you?"

"Calm down. I am not your enemy, Roy."

Roy shook his head. "Y-You know my name?"

The other man paused. "…I need to get into the mansion."

"Why?" Roy demanded. "You seem to be in a hurry. And in a stealthy way, too—you aren't with the Shepherds. Who are you?"

The intruder stepped closer. "My name is Marth—prince of Altea," he said. "And I have business with Lord Chrom."

"Marth…?" Roy muttered.

"Yes. Now, if you please…"

Roy crossed his arms. "I guess… I'm new, too. It's not my business to keep you out. Just remember," he said dangerously, "it's midafternoon, and the mansion is packed full of fighters. Don't do anything you'll regret."

Marth grinned. "Trust me, Roy—I won't. My past is full enough of regrets."

Roy stepped aside, allowing Marth through. Marth hurried toward the mansion's entrance.

"Hold on, Marth…" Roy puzzled his thoughts over. "Do I… know you?"

Marth paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at Roy. "…Perhaps."

Marth slipped into the mansion.

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 9 –_ _ **Legend of the Radiant Hero**_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _Just missed Dissonance's one-year anniversary: it wrapped up a year and a week ago!_


	9. Legend of the Radiant Hero

Chapter 9: **Legend of the Radiant Hero**

* * *

 ** _That morning_**

"…What goal could Algol have that would involve Marth dying?" Chrom was saying. "He gained nothing from that. He even lost Caeda."

The other three—Lucina, Morgan, and Brady—all fell quiet, contemplating this predicament for a moment.

"I hope I'm not interrupting…"

The four Shepherds turned to face the voice.

Seliph took a step closer, smiling courteously. "…But I have some information that I believe you will find very helpful in the battle to come."

"Seliph?" Chrom said skeptically.

"What is it, Seliph?" Lucina asked.

Seliph nodded at her courteously. "I have information regarding Algol."

"What kind of information?"

"All of it." Seliph's eyes twinkled.

The Shepherds were quiet.

"O…kay," Morgan said slowly. "Well, I'm all ears. Let's start with, where is he? What's he up to? Why?"

Seliph smiled at the suspicion in her voice. He supposed he deserved as much. "Very well. Algol is, right now, in the Outrealm you are heading to."

"Really?" Lucina asked. She seemed to believe him entirely.

"Yes. He rests in the main chamber of the building, with upwards of twenty Einherjar in the entrance chamber guarding him. This is the group Old Hubba mentioned, led by Ephraim; however, Algol is closed off from Ephraim, and is personally protected by a much smaller group of Einherjar—this group could not be more than five Einherjar strong."

Chrom crossed his arms. "…Fine. I'll bite. Suppose I believe you, and that Algol is actually in the… the Whatever-Gate Old Hubba mentioned. _Why_ is he there? What could he possibly be doing?"

Seliph winced. His confident smile finally wavered. "Okay… perhaps saying 'all of it' was a bit presumptuous, because I do not know Algol's motivations."

"As I thought," Chrom muttered.

"I swear I am telling the truth," Seliph said earnestly. "I would not lead you astray, Lord Chrom. You must believe me; this is finally a chance to take down Algol, and end his plaguing of the Outrealms."

"Okay, fine, whatever," Morgan said. "Even if we believe you—and trust me, Seliph, I'd like to—we need more than just 'hey Algol's there, go nuts.' We need something a little more concrete, y'know?"

"Of course." Seliph took a breath. "The battle versus Ephraim, assuming there will be one, will be fought in relatively close quarters, limiting the number of Shepherds you can bring. This means that the fight with Ephraim will be a fairly long one, and by the time you break his ranks, Algol will likely have escaped again. The solution: send a more covert team ahead to attack Algol directly while Ephraim's forces are distracted."

"This being Plan B, of course," Morgan added. "Plan A is talking them down. If my hunch is right, then that should work even in spite of an Einherjar's standing orders."

"Okay," Seliph said. "I'm merely offering a backup solution, in the case of poor fortune. Although, it wouldn't hurt to sneak the squad in first, regardless of which plan you go with."

 _Ooh! Ooh!_ Morgan bounced on her toes excitedly. _I'm TOTALLY calling them the Sneak Squad._

"And you really don't know why he's locked himself in the main room?" Lucina asked.

Seliph chuckled. "Milady… In your battles versus Einherjar the past few days, have you ever asked yourself, 'why are these guys even HERE?' Have you wondered why Algol left the Einherjar where he did?"

The question hung for a moment. Morgan chewed on her thumbnail, puzzling it out.

"Alright, we cave," Brady muttered exasperatedly. "Just tell us."

"It's because Algol is a massive idiot," Seliph stated. "He is no tactician, and has no idea what logistics and planning are. He leaves the Einherjar behind him in the hopes of wearing you down, or slowing you down perhaps, but he also tries to be conservative in how many Einherjar he leaves, for fear of running out—and in that way, conflicts such as the one versus Sigurd yesterday occur, where the mere twenty Einherjar fell as leaves in the wind before your onslaught.

"Not only did Algol lose those twenty soldiers, but in the same manner he bolstered his enemy's ranks with those same Einherjar. And on top of everything, these Einherjar are acting as bread crumbs that have finally brought us to him.

"As for his personal cadre, though he is constantly protected by a small group of Einherjar, they are all mages. He seems to believe that he is the brawn of the group, that he only needs the mages to complement him, and that other physical fighters would be extraneous. Miss Morgan, I'm sure you know that this is—"

"Pretty dumb, yeah," Morgan finished. "You can't have a team full of just one type. That means it just takes one mage killer to take down your whole group."

"Exactly," Seliph said. "I was often the mage killer in my time; the Tyrfing empowers my magical resistance to a ludicrous degree, so I had the burden of eliminating enemy mage teams."

"Neat."

"This means that you can respond in kind," Seliph continued. "A team of magically-resistant warriors accompanying a fighter to take on Algol." He gestured at Morgan. _"You_ would be ideal, in fact. You seem to fight with both swords and magic, and would be a versatile tool for that fight."

"As much as I enjoy being called a tool," Morgan said dryly, "I'm sitting that one out. Maribelle can do it instead; she takes magic hits like a _tank._ " She glanced at Chrom. "If, IF, it comes to blows with Ephraim, I'll be needed more there. …Shouldn't come to that, though."

"See, ya probably just jinxed it," Brady said.

"Shoot, you're right."

"Anyway," Seliph said, "that's all I have. The others are waiting for you at the Outrealm Gate. Please consider what I've said: I swear on my life I am telling the truth."

"I'll hold you to that," Chrom snarked.

"Thank you for the help," Lucina said.

Seliph watched as the Shepherds walked away. He crossed his arms uncomfortably. _Gods, I hope they believe me._

"Fighting fire with fire is a poor decision."

The deep voice made the hair on the back of Seliph's neck stand up; he turned around.

A giant of a man stood there, watching Seliph patiently with stony eyes. He had a hand resting on a massive sword on his hip; his other hand fiddled with a small, simple puzzle, seemingly for the sole purpose of keeping said hand in motion.

Seliph crossed his arms. "Who are you?"

The man grinned. His teeth were shockingly immaculate compared to the many scars he wore openly. "My name is Priam. I fight with Chrom."

"W-Well… it's a pleasure," Seliph said warily. "What did you mean by that? Fighting fire with fire?"

Priam gestured after Morgan. "You just told Morgan to make the same mistake as Algol. Imagine if Algol adds even one more physical warrior to his cadre; the team would crumble instantly. If she follows your advice, she will be fighting an ill-chosen team with an ill-chosen team."

Seliph's eyes narrowed. "Are you a tactician?"

"Are you?"

Seliph and Priam stared down for a moment.

"…Very well," Seliph said. "I admit, I am no strategist."

"I live battle," Priam rumbled. "I breathe it. Before I joined Chrom's cause, I hadn't one of my own: all I ever did was fight, and train, and test my arm against those like me. I am not a tactician, no—I could not hold my own against the likes of Robin or Morgan in a battle of wits. But a battle of strength I could never lose. And if Morgan attacks Algol's conclave with such a lopsided team, the only options are defeat, or a far too narrow victory."

Seliph blinked. He hadn't expected this gorilla of a man to speak so elegantly. "Well then, follow Morgan! Tag along. It seems she will need you, if your strength is truly what you say."

And it probably was. Seliph admired Priam's inhumanly massive arms. _My gods._

Priam nodded. "Seliph, was it? …I am not a complex man. I seek strength, and those who are worthy of strength. That is all there is. I do not lie." His eyes narrowed. "Nor do I tolerate liars. If you are truly leading my friends astray… then Ragnell will taste your blood."

Priam whirled away with a heroic swish of his cape, and stomped after the departing Shepherds.

A chill ran down Seliph's spine. _What a presence._ He took a shaky breath.

* * *

 _December 10th._ Priam remembered it well—the closing act of last year had been an eventful one. The Garden of Giants had housed him and his army of warriors, fifty strong. 'The Radiants,' he had named them. 'Enough to topple a small country,' he would brag.

Priam was a simple man. He had had everything he had ever wanted, except for the never-ending goal of finding someone stronger. His loss versus Robin was an enlightening one; he had never been so joyous in defeat. It opened his eyes to the fact that there is no ceiling to strength, and there is no end of stronger warriors. And with the promise of toppling a god, Grima? Priam had found the perfect end to his quest.

Enlightenment, he reasoned, was all he truly had left to find. Meditation. Priam had often toyed with the concept during his time at the Garden of Giants, but upon joining the Shepherds, he threw himself fully into the act.

Such as now, for example. Everything seemed to happen at a brisk pace here in the Outrealms, leaving little time for Priam to attend to personal hobbies. He made do: walking meditation was not terribly difficult.

He filled his lungs of air, and released a peaceful breath.

* * *

 ** _December 10th_**

Priam grinned at the sight before him. The town was filled to the brim with celebrators, Shepherd and Radiant alike, many of whom had already fallen under the stupor of their drinks. Priam did pride himself in his alcohol, but it would take far longer for him to succumb to the same.

The word, "Priam," caught the attention of the name's wielder. He looked around in search of the voice.

It happened that the word was not directed at him, but in fact, was contained in a conversation of two nearby. One a Radiant, one a Shepherd.

"Ssso, this... Priam guy," said the Shepherd—a horseman of green armor, seemingly to match his hair. His delivery gave the impression that he had had too much of Priam's prized drink. "He goes by, like, the Radiant Hero, right? Is he _actually_ descended from Ike?"

The Radiant bobbed his head noncommittally. "Honestly?" He lowered his voice. "I dunno… I mean, he's got the blue hair, he's got Ragnell, but in the end, that's not really what matters, y'know?" His inebriated lips turned upwards into a confident grin. "Priam, he's… more. He's humble, he's charismatic, and boy is he strong. Like… insanely strong. Have you ever arm-wrestled a wall?"

The Shepherd stared in drunken awe. "Nuh-uh! No way is he a wall…"

"I've seen 'im punch a wall in," the Radiant boasted. "Fist. Wall. Gaping hole, right through it."

Priam chuckled quietly, reminiscing. That wall had had it coming.

"But! But." The Radiant was serious now, and released his mug to more directly focus his words at the Shepherd. "He's got all that, _but,_ Ike, he had one thing that Priam's never had."

"What's that?" the Shepherd asked, echoing Priam's thought.

The Radiant's expression was stone. "Ike's prized technique, the one that elevates him from great to legend in the eyes of strength-seekers like ourselves… Aether." He leaned back, crossing his arms, allowing his words to hang.

"Aether," the Shepherd breathed.

* * *

"Aether!" Chrom had roared, as he'd struck at the first opponent to warrant the skill's use in a long time.

Priam laughed loudly as he succumbed to the surprise technique.

* * *

 ** _December 11th_**

"Aether," Priam echoed.

Chrom's room was sparse, as most of his things were packed; the Shepherds were mobilized to travel back to Chon'sin come noon.

Chrom frowned as he leaned against the wall. He hadn't expected a visit from the Shepherds' newest recruit so soon. "What of it?"

"I have trained for years to discover the technique," Priam explained. "I mastered Sol easily; Luna, though a greater challenge, came just the same. Yet the combination of the two—the ancient amalgamation, Aether—eluded me. Eludes me still. I thought, perhaps, I need learn my opponent instead; and though I now cannot be touched by sword, lance, or axe, this was not the correct path to choose." He shrugged, conceding, "Not correct for learning Aether." He did take a great deal of pride in his practical immunity to conventional melee weapons.

He eyed the sacred blade on Chrom's hip. _Not fully immune, however._

He blinked his digressions away. "Yet, after all my failures, it happens that I needed only consult the wielder of the legendary Falchion! It makes all too much sense that one with a genealogy as rich as yours would be my eventual tutor." He coughed. "If it is not too presumptuous to ask for your tutelage."

Chrom crossed his arms uncomfortably. Priam could already see a disappointing answer in the Exalt's eyes.

"I doubt I'll be able to help you," Chrom said. "I have no experience in teaching, and I don't have the time. There won't be a dull moment between now and when we reach Origin Peak on the twenty-second." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"A… perfectly reasonable explanation," Priam agreed. "I will make do with the resources I have, then."

"Trust me, knowing Sol and Luna is useful enough," Chrom solaced. "You're already an incredibly valuable addition to the Shepherds."

* * *

And by the twenty-fifth of December, when both the war and the postwar festivities had ended, Priam had found himself devoid of his resolve to achieve Aether.

He had played a part in overthrowing a god. His quest for strength was at an end.

Not that he wouldn't keep himself in top shape… he would be no victor if he ended his journey without a warrior's mentality for fitness.

To the Garden of Giants he would return, until, months later, word would reach him of the legendary tactician's return…

* * *

 ** _Present day_**

"Glad to have you on board!" Morgan said. Priam had caught her just outside of the mansion, thankfully.

Morgan shrugged sheepishly. "I was just thinking that I should bring someone physical along. Just Lucina seemed like not enough." She glanced at Lucina. "…That came out ruder than I meant."

Lucina put up a peaceful hand. "I took no offense."

"Awesome." Morgan turned back to Priam. "Anyway, thanks for volunteering! It seems like, with a group this small, you'd be ideal for it, anyway. You're probably the strongest Shepherd in a one-on-one fight." She tapped her chin. "Except Walhart, maybe…?"

"Makes me wonder why ya don't _always_ field this guy," Brady added.

Morgan rubbed her head sheepishly. "Well… it's… uh… synergy, and…"

"I fare less well as a team player in larger battles," Priam stated bluntly. To address the blank stares: "I am not too proud to admit my faults."

Maribelle nodded. "Yes, very admirable. Now, Morgan, you were briefing us?"

"I have a question," Lucina said. She gestured in the direction of the Outrealm Gate. "This portal takes us to the entrance of the Dragon's Gate, right? How are we going to sneak into the main room if there's a massive chamber full of Einherjar in between? You showed us the layout of the Dragon's Gate that Lyn provided you; there don't seem to be any hidden paths from the entrance hall to the main chamber."

"Right," Morgan replied, a confident twinkle in her eye. "That's why I got you this."

Maribelle, Lucina, Brady, and Priam leaned in to get a look at the item in Morgan's hand.

When offered, Lucina accepted the small bag from Morgan. Lucina frowned curiously. "Okay? What is it?"

Morgan giggled. She seemed uncharacteristically excited (even for her); she practically bounced on her toes in her enthusiasm. "It's a piece of our history," she said coyly. "Warp Powder."

"Warp Powder? How did you get your hands on this?"

A red tint hit Morgan's cheeks, though her wide smile didn't budge. "…It fell off the back of a carriage."

Lucina's eyes widened. "Y-You _stole_ it?!" She shook the bag emphatically. "Is this Old Hubba's?!"

Morgan nodded rapidly. "Uh-huh!"

"Well—why?! And why didn't you tell that to Chrom when he mentioned it?"

"I didn't want to tell him what I did," Morgan said. "Could you keep this a secret from him, too?"

Lucina's jaw dropped. "Would people _stop_ making me keep secrets?! Do I look like the type to want to keep secrets, or something? Because I'm not!"

"You prolly coulda just asked him," Brady said. "Stealin' it was a bad idea, I think."

"I didn't want to risk getting a 'no'," Morgan said. "If I asked, and _then_ stole it, Hubba would know it was me."

The Sneak Squad groaned.

"Anyway, bygones are bygones: you're going to need this powder today. Luckily, there's pretty much exactly enough for the four of you to take a one-way trip."

The others seemed disapproving, but Priam didn't mind terribly. This was merely a game of wits—Old Hubba was the weaker of mind if he allowed himself to lose to Morgan. Thievery and lying Priam tended to keep separate in his view of morality.

So, while the others were so irritable, Priam asked the necessary question. "How does it work?"

"Glad you asked!" Morgan bubbled. She didn't let the attitude of Maribelle and her children get her down. "I've already tested it all myself, so don't worry, the stuff is safe and works."

* * *

 ** _Last night_**

Morgan groaned as she slowly lifted herself off of the floor. Her papers were still floating down from the air after her graceless landing in the pile.

Morgan grabbed a stray piece of paper, and she noted with an unsteady hand, "Be… sure… _not_ … to warp… into the air."

* * *

"…And that's how you operate this stuff," Morgan finished. "Remember that it saps away your strength for a bit after you use it."

"Thanks," said Lucina. She still seemed to be a little sour about the stolen Warp Powder, but Morgan's spirit proved, as ever, that nobody could ever stay mad at Morgan. "We'll make good use of it."

"Cool! Now, I've gotta go catch up with Chrom." Morgan gestured with her thumb. "Good luck, you guys! I know you can do it."

"You too, Morgan," said Maribelle. "Hopefully, you don't see combat."

"I'm hoping that too," said Morgan. "I don't know why, but I'm just sure it'll work out this time!"

* * *

 ** _About thirty minutes later_**

Chrom screamed as Ephraim stabbed the blade of Siegmund into his side.

* * *

 ** _Now_**

"Yeah, I've got a good feeling about this," Morgan said cheerfully. "Anyway, see you on the other side! Give Algol one from me!"

Morgan hurried after Chrom.

* * *

The other Shepherds waited outside the Outrealm Gate as Lucina, Maribelle, Brady, and Priam went first.

Lucina held her breath and stepped in. Bright lights swarmed around her; she closed her eyes and weathered them.

Lucina stepped out of the light and onto the green tile floor of the Dragon's Gate. She calmly released her breath, and turned to face the portal. Within a moment, Brady and Priam walked out as well, and Maribelle, astride her horse, did the same.

"Roomy," Brady said, taking in his surroundings.

"Lady Lyndis was right about the amount of leg room," Maribelle said. She sat up in her saddle, reaching up to try (and fail) to touch the ceiling. "Should be ideal for larger combat, if it does come to that."

"We should not waste time," Priam rumbled. "The others will arrive shortly. We must execute our plan as quickly as possible."

"Right." Lucina plucked the sack of Warp Powder from its place on her belt. "We know where we're going, thanks to Lady Lyndis. Let's get there." She gestured at the others. "Gather close."

The four Shepherds huddled. To Priam's chagrin, they joined hands.

Priam flushed red as he waited for Lucina to cast the powder. Maribelle and Lucina had each of his hands; he couldn't remember the last time he'd—

"Ready?" Lucina whispered.

"Ready," echoed Maribelle and Brady, and also Priam a moment later.

"Okay." Lucina took a nervous breath. She gripped the bag tightly and threw its contents on the ground.

Runes of light encircled the four Shepherds, and the ground whisked away from under them.

In an instant, all four fell onto new ground, their muscles crying out for relief.

Brady lay on his back, wheezing, while Maribelle had fallen off of her horse—and her horse fell over too.

Lucina staggered onto all fours. She could feel her breakfast rising up to greet her.

Priam was the only one to keep his feet. He leaned against the wall, sweating and panting.

Priam glanced over his shoulder. "Are you three… all right?"

Brady gave a weak thumbs-up from the ground.

"Good." Priam turned away. "It seems… we are where we need to be."

Lucina felt the pain slowly meander away. After a moment of rest, her arms no longer cried out in pain. It was now more of a dull groan.

She climbed to her feet and looked around. Behind them was a set of massive, locked doors; they seemed to be identical to the ones at the end of the entrance chamber, meaning the Warp Powder was a success.

Lucina noticed Priam and followed his gaze. A stairway awaited them.

"L-Let's catch our breath… and then we'll go in," Lucina breathed. "Mother, are you okay?"

"Of c-course, dear…" Maribelle sat up, holding her stomach. "I propose we _never_ do that again."

"Agreed," said everyone.

Maribelle stroked her horse's mane. "Oh, dear… You'll be fine, sweetie." She turned to Brady. "I hate to bring her into combat when she's so out of sorts, but…"

Brady sat up. "Yeah."

The four Shepherds relaxed for a moment. Lucina leaned against the wall.

Brady hummed a quiet melody. Maribelle crouched before her horse, stroking its snout.

Priam's sword hand twitched impatiently.

"All right, that's enough," Lucina said, causing Priam to sigh with relief. "We should waste no more time."

The group began to climb the steps.

The air was tense as they ascended. Lucina found herself gripping Falchion tightly in her excitement. This was finally it: time to end this, time to defeat Algol. If he fell, it would all be downhill from there; the Shepherds need only round up what remained of Algol's Einherjar and finally, _finally_ move on to the actual reason they had taken their trek into the Outrealms.

Lucina caught a glimpse of Robin in her mind's eye. She trembled with anticipation.

"There," said Priam from ahead, at the apex of the stairs.

Lucina picked up the pace for the last few steps, and stopped at the top. Her breath caught.

Algol, as well as four other Einherjar, stood at the end of the room, roughly twenty paces away. Algol sat cross-legged before a massive gateway, though beyond the gateway's arches seemed to be nothing but blackness.

"The titular Dragon's Gate?" Maribelle mused.

The voice of an Einherjar drifted into earshot. "…st time it was opened by luring a dragon out," the purple-haired man was saying. "Do you suppose we could communicate through?"

"It's _silent,_ Canas," Algol scoffed, waving it away irritably. "Can't even get a word through. Unless ya think I should start shoutin'?"

Canas pursed his lips. "…See, I believe you are being sarcastic, but that's not a terrible—"

"Oh, come off it," a younger, green-haired Einherjar sneered. "It's not gonna work. This 'Dragon's Gate' doesn't look like it'll ever open." He irritably kicked a rock through the archway; it fell into the bottomless chasm beyond.

"Now, now, that's just pessimism, Raigh. I'm certain we can get this to work." Canas turned to the third mage. "Do you have any insights, Lute?"

Lute was tapping her chin. "No… Or, not yet, rather. Fear not; we have the greatest mind of this generation, as well as you people, working on this problem. I will have a solution eventually." She cleared her throat. "Even if it amounts to 'no, this will never work'."

"Hey." The fourth and final Einherjar nudged Algol. "We've got company."

Lucina took the lead as the Shepherds approached the enemy.

Algol glanced over his shoulder at them and broke into a wide smile. He rose to his feet. "Well, well, well! If it isn't Miss Marth-Wannabe. I was wonderin' if you'd ever catch up."

"You made it easy enough," Lucina said.

She drew Falchion; Algol drew his own black axe.

Canas quickly moved to place a hand on Algol's shoulder. "N-Now now, Mr. Algol, let's not be so quick to violence! Perhaps we could work together to figure out the Dragon's Gate."

Algol's eyes narrowed. They were locked on Lucina. "…Sorry, Canas, but I bet these guys ain't interested."

"You're not wrong." Lucina twirled her sword.

Canas adjusted his monocle dejectedly.

"I'm curious," Brady called. "What is it that's got you so riled up here? What're you tryin' to do with the Dragon's Gate?"

Algol sighed exasperatedly. "Time travel! I know it's possible—I _know_ it. You brats are the proof. But how?! I've been in the Outrealms for months, and I haven't been able to figure it out. I was hopin' that the Dragon's Gate was the breakthrough I needed."

Lucina's hands clenched into fists. "So that _was_ your endgame. Your 'bigger and better' plan was to change the past…"

Algol cackled. "I told ya, the other day, that I'm more than a Grimleal. I'm somethin' beyond—somethin' _much_ greater! Even Grima himself never spread his influence across multiple _timelines._ Heheheh… An' when I've figured things out, I'm gonna spread my Einherjar army into the past, an' I'm gonna make a better world—one where you lot don't stand in Grima's way. Heheheheh…"

"That will stay a dream," Maribelle stated. "You will fall today."

"No! I _won't!"_ Algol snarled. "I have NOT come this far to lose to _you!_ There's somethin' I'm missing—what is it?!"

A thought occurred to Lucina. "It's Naga," she said. "She must be the key. Without her blessing, you could never enact your plan."

Algol's eyes widened. "Naga… Yes… Yes, yer right… That must be it!"

His eyes flicked down to the golden sword in Lucina's hands.

"Falchion is her fang!" Algol hissed. He stepped closer, reaching out an arm desperately. "G-Give it to me, _now!"_

Lucina raised the weapon, keeping Algol at bay. "Do you honestly expect me to agree?"

Algol growled in frustration and slammed his axe into the ground. The massive weapon tore into the sturdy tiles and uprooted stone.

His Grimleal eyes widened insanely. "Then Garm will taste your flesh!"

Recognizing that combat was afoot, Lucina glanced aside at her allies. "Brady, Mother: mages! Priam—"

"Understood." Priam's eyes were coldly focused on his target, and he eagerly dashed ahead to engage with the fourth Einherjar, the reason Priam's presence here was exceptionally valuable:

The Radiant Hero himself.

Ike awaited Priam's attack. He knew he had the advantage of defense here, and needn't push himself to engage with his opponent.

Priam struck hard and with great strength, but the two swords clashed powerfully. Ike didn't so much as lose his footing.

Ike's eyes narrowed. His opponent's sword—it looked so much like his own, if aged and worn.

 _Can't get distracted,_ he reminded himself, and he shoved forward to push Priam away.

Priam attacked again and again. His Ragnell and Ike's were not evenly matched, but Priam's fighting prowess was indisputable. He constantly kept Ike on edge despite his inferior weapon.

Ike found himself sweating in no time. This man here was incredibly talented; Ike hadn't faced such a formidable opponent since Tellius.

Priam feinted at Ike's sword hand. Ike called the bluff and struck back.

Priam bared his teeth in a proud grin. _Exactly as I would have done._

Priam lived combat, breathed combat. Now was the time to test: did Ike do the same?

* * *

Maribelle and Brady were outnumbered. Three mages versus two healers.

Yet, the fight was even. The three mages were magical powerhouses, and would have easily made mincemeat of other fighters, but Brady and Maribelle both strongly resisted magic.

Contrarily, Brady and Maribelle had decently powerful magic of their own, where two of the three Einherjar mages—shamans, seemingly—had subpar resistance. The Einherjar would take more damage than they could dish out.

It was a war of attrition, certainly, but one slightly skewed in Brady's and Maribelle's favor… in theory. In practice, that extra number on the Einherjar side was making all the difference, and two of them wielded dark magic—counters to the Shepherds' anima.

"Trade off!" Brady called hoarsely, and loosed another arc from his Bolt Axe at a new target as Maribelle weathered two magical attacks to cover him.

Maribelle grunted in exertion; she threw out a wave of Arcwind to distract her opponents. "Trade!" she commanded, and she and Brady switched opponents once again.

The fact of the matter was that the Shepherds had had far, far too much experience with being greatly outnumbered. Robin would have been proud of Maribelle and Brady's synergy.

* * *

"Urgh!" As Lucina dodged, she could feel the movement of the air that Garm cut through; the strength behind each attack raised a gust such that it seemed to pull her in.

Algol swung the massive weapon effortlessly. Spittle flew from his deranged lips as he leveled the axe at Lucina's midsection. She narrowly sidestepped the long blade, and capitalized on the momentum behind Algol's swing by attacking. She landed a small cut on his leg, accompanied by a much deeper one on his arm.

Algol didn't seem to care. He fought with the inhibitions of a berserker: that is, without any. Sure, he had little in the way of defense, but he seemed to shrug off any injury Lucina could inflict.

He gripped Garm with both hands, brought it over his head, and swung it powerfully down. Lucina could hear the whoosh of air following the incredible weapon as she rolled aside to dodge. Garm slammed into a green tile, smashing it in two and dislodging it from the floor.

Algol glared at Lucina. He lifted his axe and shook off the remainders of the green flooring.

 _That Garm,_ Lucina thought tiredly. _That's the strongest axe I've ever seen. I literally cannot afford to get hit._

Lucina gripped Falchion tightly. She clenched her teeth. _Then I'll be faster._

* * *

Priam touched a wound on his arm. He assessed the blood on his fingertips, practically grinning with glee.

"That's a fancy sword you have," Ike called. "Looks a lot like mine. Care to explain?"

"Long have I awaited the judgment of the Radiant Hero," Priam boomed, ignoring him. "Long have I wished to trade blows with one as worthy as he!"

He raised Ragnell horizontally, concentrating.

Ike sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get an answer. He took a defensive stance as he awaited Priam's attack.

An orange glow manifested on Priam's weathered blade. It shone with the warm radiance of the sun.

Priam remembered his training—the hours he had spent mastering the technique of Sol. He had conquered the skill within an afternoon of setting himself to the task. For one of his class, it was not terribly difficult to pick up on; the sword and the axe both were conducive weapons to the task, and the agility of an infantryman was key.

Priam applied the technique: he succeeded in slipping past Ike's guard and nailing a precise, if superficial, wound on him. Priam grinned as he felt the rush of his stamina returning.

Undeterred, Ike forced his elbow between Priam's ribs and followed through with his sword's pommel. Priam grasped his stinging sternum, still grinning regardless.

Ike scowled. _Let's take that smile down, and let him know he's not the only one with tricks._ He pointed his Ragnell at Priam and let Aether take over.

To Priam's surprise, Ike threw Ragnell into the air. The weapon simply hung in the air, spinning, for more than a second.

Further perplexing Priam, Ike leapt into the air and caught his sword.

 _Ah._ Priam caught a glimpse of an orange tint to Ike's blade, and understanding, as well as pride, welled in him. _The legendary technique in its purest form; he deigns to use it on me._

Ike brought the attack down onto Priam. Ragnell clashed with Ragnell, and Sol whiffed.

Crouching now, Ike tensed to leap upwards for the second half of the technique. However, Priam refused to make the same mistake he had made last December.

Priam knew blocking Luna would be a costly mistake. It could likely break his weapon; unlike Ike's, Priam's Ragnell was not unbreakable. Priam sent his thanks to Chrom of the past for educating him of Aether's lethality.

Priam ducked to the side. Ike's upward launch missed; Ike spun in the air, landed on his hands, and flipped back onto his feet.

Priam nodded in approval of Ike's theatrics. That didn't mean he would offer any quarter, of course; he raised Ragnell and concentrated.

A blue shine appeared on Priam's ancient weapon. It glowed with the cool luminosity of the moon.

Priam had spent days, weeks even, honing and refining the technique of Luna. It had not come easily. The skill was more characteristic of lancemen: mounted, armored ones in particular. Priam had had to adapt his swordplay to tap into the lance's elegance and finesse, and even his persistent dedication to the undertaking had still only yielded fruit after much, much error. …Granted, this was years ago, and with a younger Priam.

Priam twirled Ragnell elegantly and gripped it point-forward as a lanceman would. He dashed toward his opponent and kicked off into a leap.

Ike's breath caught as he barely dodged the jumping Luna. _That was too close._

Priam bared his teeth. _He is perfectly vulnerable,_ he thought impatiently, while he was stuck collecting his balance. _Were this a dual-hitting technique, the Radiant Hero would already be defeated._

Yet Aether was still beyond his grasp.

* * *

A black flux encircled Maribelle. She grimaced in expectation and covered her hands with her head.

The darkness slowly closed in, until she was entirely covered by the shadowy veil. When there was nothing but black to be seen, the magic struck.

Maribelle cried out in pain. The tome hurt far worse than the others had. As the darkness faded away, she held herself, wishing it was a single wound she could tend to when instead everything in her cried for relief.

Brady didn't miss a beat, swiftly stepping forward and targeting the magic's wielder with his axe. However, Canas weaved a pattern of blackness from his fingertips, obscuring his opponent's sight, and Brady's lightning missed.

Lute and Raigh covered Canas's flanks. Fire and darkness raced at the two healers, who could do nothing but try to block.

It had become apparent that Canas was the hard-hitter here. He seemed to wield some sort of special tome—one that negated magical resistance.

Maribelle panted for breath, holding her limp arm. With her other, she weakly casted Arcwind in Lute's direction; the mage easily dodged.

Canas stepped closer eagerly. _I'd imagine it shouldn't take much more to incapacitate that Valkyrie._ His tome of Elder Magic glowed.

Maribelle saw the darkness begin to encircle her once again. She tensed; if this didn't work, she wouldn't be able to weather the attack.

She trained her eyes on Canas.

The darkness grew thicker; only a few seconds more and she would be blind once again.

When only a last sliver of light remained, Maribelle struck.

The blade of Arcwind slipped through the black, and Canas, with his guard left down, didn't have time to react.

The gale tore into him and threw him off of his feet. He landed on the floor, bleeding and unconscious.

With its wielder incapacitated, the dark magic surrounding Maribelle dissipated harmlessly. Lute and Raigh both turned to their fallen member with surprise.

Maribelle gave her son a sly glance. "'Time to tip the scales,'" she said dryly.

Brady laughed.

* * *

Algol swung his mighty axe again and again, never landing a hit but not needing to. All Lucina could do was dodge, it seemed; her own attacks did nothing to him, and she couldn't block. If Algol had to swing a thousand times to hit her, he would. He only needed one.

* * *

The two Ragnells locked together. Both burly swordsmen pushed at each other, grimacing as they put their all into the contest of strength.

When he felt himself losing his advantage, Ike finally yielded, and was forced to block Priam's brief offensive before the situation reset back to neither fighter's advantage.

"You're very strong," Ike said. "You've got to be one of the most capable fighters I've ever met hand-to-hand. Who trained you?"

Priam's smile had long ago died, and was since replaced with a stone-like expression. His eyes were hard when he answered:

"Time did."

* * *

 ** _Decades past_**

"Once more, Priam!"

Priam grimaced at the dirt, grasping handfuls of soil. "I…"

"Pick yourself up, child."

Priam squeezed his eyes shut, and though his body protested, he agonizingly returned to his feet. He faced the blue-haired warrior towering over him, and accepted the practice sword when offered.

"Now." The giant of a man smiled. "It remains to be seen if you can land a hit on me."

Priam scowled. "I _will!_ I will prove myself a worthy inheritor of Ragnell, Father!"

 _"Then show me!"_

* * *

Priam would show him. He knew. He would.

Years, and years, and years would go by, but nothing he ever learned could surpass his first true encounter with death, at a paltry twelve years of age.

Priam could hear the crinkling of leaves under his feet. The wind rustled the trees overhead. His breath was deafening in his ears. It was odd, really, that in such a petrifying moment, everything stood so crystally serene: that his senses were amplified in his state of heightened terror.

The bear slowly, menacingly reared back onto its hind legs, and exposed its fangs to the young trespasser.

Priam's empty hands clenched into fists.

* * *

 ** _Present day_**

Priam and Ike both attacked at once. They mirrored each other perfectly: both grabbed the other's wrist, halting the other's weapon. The Radiant Heroes butted heads, growling.

Priam introduced his forehead to Ike's nose.

Advantage: Priam.

Priam clubbed Ike with his weapon, and he swiped his Ragnell into Ike's. The younger weapon was dislodged from its owner's grip.

Ike watched, alarmed, as his Ragnell spun in the air and planted blade-first in the floor behind him. He turned back to Priam, awaiting the finish.

Priam's chest heaved with labored breaths. He glared at Ike with bloodlust; the fire in his spirit had reached a new level.

The smile finally returned to his face. He spun his sword and lodged the blade into the stone floor.

He approached Ike, bare-handed.

Ike blinked. _Well, apparently THIS is happening now._ He put up his fists.

Priam broke into a run and tackled Ike. Ike felt the air leave his diaphragm, and worse, felt his feet leave the ground.

Priam threw Ike off of his shoulder; Ike landed hard on the stone ground, not far from his Ragnell.

Though winded, Ike was soon back on his feet. Priam slowly drew closer, his hands raised warily.

Ike felt out of his depth. Hand-to-hand was no specialty of his, but even though Ragnell was nearby, it felt wrong to use it. This opponent of his could have killed him at any time, but he treated this duel with honor instead; it was only fair that Ike reciprocated.

The more Ike thought about it, the more he realized that his opponent was no enemy. This fight… it was merely a game, a contest of strength.

Ike grinned. Now _that_ he could deal with.

Fists began to fly. Ike and Priam fought closely, though Priam was clearly the more knowledgeable martial artist. While Ike would try to take most hits in his armor plates, to minimize damage, Priam would simply brush aside Ike's punches, moving like water. His hands weren't even clenched into fists.

 _Wait, isn't that what you're supposed to do?_ Ike thought. He glanced down at his hands. _Aren't I supposed to make fists? I think so. What's HE doing, then?_

It took Ike longer than he'd like to admit to realize something.

"You're toying with me," he growled.

"So you see!" Priam bellowed, grinning widely. He sidestepped a punch, and caught the other fist in his hand. With his other hand, Priam applied pressure to said fist's elbow, and he swept Ike's leg. He twisted Ike as he fell, and soon had the Radiant Hero pressed face-first into the ground, with his arm pinned behind his back. "And now you admit defeat."

Ike's eyes were wide in disbelief. "What kind of… man are you?" he muttered; his words were slurred due to his cheek pressing against the cold tile.

Priam's face fell. "…One who never had your ideals. One who never knew anything but strength and contest. One who, now, does nothing but search for enlightenment, and will continue as such for the remainder of his days… and in the meantime, will stop at nothing to save an old friend. And that man, the master of wits, needs me—needs _us._ You… Ike, the Radiant Hero… my first ally… you are an obstacle that I must overcome if I am to save him." He applied further pressure to Ike's trapped arm, causing him to wince. "I am not the stronger of us in spirit, Sir Ike… merely the stronger in muscle. And I require your surrender."

 _There's no ceiling to strength,_ Ike thought. _This is the man who spends all his days acquiring more—pushing himself, constantly, endlessly. I never stood a chance. Nobody would._

"You have it."

Priam smiled. "Excellent!"

Priam released Ike. As Ike rolled over onto his back, panting, he noticed Priam moving for Ike's Ragnell, which still stood protruding from the ground nearby.

Priam wrapped his hands around the hallowed weapon, and with a roar of strength, he released the weapon from its green pedestal.

Priam immediately turned and honed in on true Ragnell's first victim:

* * *

Raigh.

The blue shockwave erupted against the shaman. The force behind the wave flung Raigh high into the air, and he collided with the wall high up, before slowly returning to the earth.

Brady shot Priam a thumbs-up, and he and his mother encroached on the lonesome mage.

Lute looked around. "Hmm… things are looking grim."

"Yes indeed," said Maribelle.

Lute could only sigh as their magic honed in.

* * *

Lucina beamed confidently. The others had come through: while she occupied Algol, they were able to dispatch their opponents.

It wasn't long before all four Shepherds had Algol backed against a wall. Or rather, not; the Dragon's Gate loomed behind Algol, with nothing but blackness beyond its arches.

Algol hissed with fury. Each wide swing of the axe kept all of his opponents at bay; the fight seemed practically even in spite of the numerical dissonance. Brady and Maribelle in particular were already wounded, so it wasn't long before they both fell back.

Lucina and Priam both maintained pressure on Algol. Algol's swings, though powerful, were purely as acts of defense, to keep the two swords at bay.

Priam smirked. Algol could never touch him.

Priam weaved around Algol's attack and rejoindered with an elbow to the jaw. Algol staggered back; he nearly stood on the precipice of the bottomless chasm beyond the silent Dragon's Gate. Lucina followed through with a significant wound to Algol's leg.

Algol yelled loudly as he fell to a knee. He supported himself on Garm, trying in vain to halt the rushing of blood from his thigh. "Y-You… you… _bastards!"_ he screamed.

Lucina panted. "You have done this… to yourself, Algol," she breathed. "You asked for all of this. We could not allow you… to enact your plan."

"Surrender," Priam demanded. He aimed the true Ragnell at the Grimleal. "Else, you will taste steel."

Algol stared at the ground, shaking his head furiously. "You—You—I haven't come this far to lose! Not after all this time!"

Algol shakily struggled back to his feet. He stood lopsided, favoring his unhurt leg.

"If you raise that weapon at us," Lucina warned, "then your life is forfeit."

Algol clenched his teeth. His eyes shifted from Shepherd to Shepherd with unwavering hate.

He let loose a primal, frustrated scream, and lifted Garm.

Lucina and Priam struck quickly and efficiently. Lucina ducked the axe and buried Falchion into the Grimleal's shoulder; Priam dragged true Ragnell across Algol's midsection and finished with a decisive slash onto his forearm.

Still clutching the black axe Garm, Algol's hand flew alone into the void beyond the Dragon's Gate.

Algol stared numbly at what remained of his right arm; slowly, his eyes drifted toward the sword still imbedded in his shoulder.

Lucina planted her boot into Algol's chest and kicked him off of the blade of Falchion. Algol fell back, past the Dragon's Gate's green arches, past the edge, past the event horizon of saving himself. He fell.

Without so much as a cry of shock, Algol disappeared into the shadowy abyss.

The four Shepherds stood before the silent Dragon's Gate, victorious.

"We… just won, right?" Brady muttered, scratching his head. "I-I'm not hallucinatin' or nothin'?"

"No, you aren't," Lucina said grimly, staring into the darkness below. Algol was gone; out of the Shepherds' story as quickly as he had entered. Nothing remained. "We have won."

"Later… I shall give a hearty 'woohoo' in celebration," Maribelle panted. She leaned forward in her saddle, resting. "But… right now… let us return home."

"I could not agree more," Priam sighed. "However… first things first."

The other three Shepherds watched Priam turn back.

* * *

Ike slowly stood to greet Priam. "It seems we were misled," he said quietly. "I must thank you for defeating us. For showing us how wrong we were."

Priam did not respond. Instead, he drew Ragnell; holding it in reverse, he offered the blade to its original owner.

"No," Ike said, refusing Priam's gesture with a hand. "You said that you wanted to earn my judgment? Well, you have. Keep Ragnell; it's yours."

"No, it is not." Priam nodded at his own sword—the Ragnell's mirror, still planted in the floor where Priam had left it. "That blade is my inheritance. It is all I have ever known, and all I will ever need." He closed his eyes peacefully. _Neither do I need Aether to be your worthy descendant. I am the man I have made of myself._

Ike watched Priam's sword as well; there was no questioning that it was also Ragnell. The sword had already chosen Priam. "…Then I accept your gift." Ike smiled as he grasped the offering. "Thank you."

* * *

Four Einherjar, four Shepherds; all slowly trudged back from whence they had come. Ike opened the locked door at the base of the stairs, revealing the massive entrance chamber. At the opposite end was the Outrealm Gate.

The hall was completely empty. No Einherjar, no Shepherds, but many signs of battle. Scratches on the floor… uprooted tiles… blood.

The Shepherds grimaced and continued their silent march.

* * *

Past the Outrealm Gate, and back to Old Hubba's Outrealm. A sign of life: the cavaliers met them as they alighted on familiar ground, and filled them in.

"Chrom was hurt?!" Maribelle exclaimed, sitting up in her saddle. "I-Is he okay?"

Stahl calmed her with a hand. "He'll be okay. Lady Emmeryn tended to his wounds, and he's in the infirmary right now."

"We have one of those?" Lucina murmured.

Stahl and Sully took Maribelle's horse to the stables, and she walked with the others as they continued back to the mansion.

"Fear not," said Priam as they marched. "A true warrior like Chrom would never be felled by such opponents. From this, he will only come back stronger."

"Yes, yes," said Maribelle, who had heard the same thing (more or less) from Chrom countless times before.

* * *

Chrom leaned his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. "…So, you did it."

"He's done for," Brady said. "It's over."

"Almost," Chrom corrected. He opened his eyes and sat forward, taking care not to mess with his stitches. "There are still more Einherjar to be recovered, but with Algol out of the picture, it's all downhill from here."

"And then we can find Robin," Lucina said. A lump of excitement formed in her throat; she breathed deeply to curb her exhilaration. "We are so close."

"That we are," Chrom said, his eyes twinkling. "Now… you guys go get those wounds tended to, and wash up. You've earned all kinds of rest."

Priam inclined his head. "As you wish. Farewell, sire." With a swish of his cape, he turned and exited.

Lucina stepped closer and touched Chrom's hand. A little smile danced on her expression. "Get well, Father."

Over her shoulder, Brady concurred, "Rest up, Pa."

Lucina and Brady left the infirmary.

Maribelle limped closer and sat on Chrom's bed. Her eyes were concerned.

"Hey," Chrom said sternly, "you need some rest, Maribelle. Come on… worry about yourself a little bit, okay?"

Maribelle pursed her lips. "…Very well."

She still lingered for a moment longer, staring at Chrom painfully. On an impulse, she leaned closer and pressed her chapped lips against Chrom's forehead. Chrom closed his eyes peacefully.

The two remained in this position for a long moment.

Finally, Maribelle pulled away from his forehead, and kissed his cheek instead before standing. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Maribelle reluctantly left.

* * *

"Chrom. …Chrom?"

Chrom blinked his eyes open. "Mmyep?"

Emmeryn giggled quietly. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to wake you. I was going to ask if… you wanted to join us for dinner. Never mind, then…"

"Hm? N-No, I'm awake, I'm awake." Chrom pushed the covers off. "…Are you saying I can get up now?"

"And walk to your heart's content," Emmeryn hummed. "But, please let me know if you feel the wounds too sharply."

"I'll be sure to," Chrom lied.

Chrom swung his feet out of bed, grinning, and he slowly eased himself into a standing position. "Ahh… It's been too long."

"It's been four hours? …And you were asleep most of it?"

"Daylight hours!" Chrom said defensively.

Emmeryn rolled her eyes. "Anyway… Dinner?"

"Definitely."

Emmeryn smiled, and Chrom accompanied her to the mess hall.

* * *

Chrom sat at the head of the table. It had taken him a full minute of adjustments for him to find a comfortable position that didn't set his hip aflame. Now, having found it, he sat comfortably, enjoying the general hubbub in the room.

All his Shepherds, gathered around the table. Laughing, storytelling… eating, of course.

Chrom smiled.

"Mind if I take this one?"

Chrom noticed Morgan holding the chair next to him. He gestured 'go ahead.'

Morgan beamed and sat. "So! That battle went pretty well, all things considered. No casualties on our side, and we got almost thirty more Einherjar. _Plus_ Algol! Today was a pretty good day!"

"Agreed," Chrom said, raising a flask. Morgan clinked hers with his, and they both took a drink.

Morgan coughed, looking into her mug. "I-Is this alcohol?"

Chrom shrugged. "Probably. I guess you're not a fan?"

Morgan swirled the liquid. "I dunno… Never had it before."

"Really? Huh." Chrom took another sip. "…Guess I just assumed."

"Assumed? How come?"

Chrom glanced aside at her, and forced a smile. "It's nothing."

"No it's not. It's never 'nothing' when people say it is."

Chrom sighed. "I… used to share wine with Robin after big wins. And this, all this…" Chrom waved vaguely in the air, indicating the general attitude of the hall, "this really brings me back to then."

Morgan frowned. "Wow… You guys really _did_ have the hots for each other, didn't you?"

Chrom flushed red. "What?! Not you, too!"

Morgan laughed. "Lighten up, Captain! You know, I took a look at the manifest. There are only twenty-nine Einherjar unaccounted for. Twenty-nine! We are _soooo_ close to FINALLY getting to do what we came here to do: find your lover."

"Knock it off, Morgan."

"Whoops, sorry. I'm sure keeping that a secret makes it all a lot more exciting for you two."

"Gods, Morgan, _stop!"_ Chrom said earnestly. He looked away, crossing his arms. "I've heard enough of this crap from Maribelle since the night we found Emm." He shot her a sideways glance. "And that's your father you're joking about!"

"Geez, I'm just teasing."

"I don't find it funny. It feels like you are bastardizing the friendship we had. Or should I start joking about you and Nah?"

"Fire away, my friend. I'd be happy to see you make fun."

Morgan smiled so simply that Chrom couldn't help but crack a grin himself. "Morgan…" He sighed. "…You're a nice person."

Morgan waved it away. "Oh, c'mon, Cap! Now you're getting all serious in the _other_ direction."

"I'd argue that you should just take the compliment."

"Oh, fine." Morgan bowed theatrically. "I accept your compliment. Thank you, Mr. Exalt Man."

Chrom sighed. "Good enough. Anyway, don't you have an after-action report ready yet?"

"Nah. I started a draft, but then I fell asleep." She jabbed a thumb at the door. "It's in my room if you wanna see what I have."

"Yeah, sure."

Chrom slowly pushed away from the table, wincing at the pain shooting through his hip. He and Morgan excused themselves from the table.

* * *

Chrom stepped inside Morgan's room. It was much, much messier than he'd anticipated. Glancing at the beds, he could tell which one was Cynthia's: the one that _didn't_ look as if it had been assaulted by a grizzly bear.

"How do you sleep so restlessly?" Chrom muttered. Suddenly, he felt something land on his head; he caught it before it slipped off. "Paper…?" He looked up. "What the—?! How did you get papers on the _ceiling?"_

Morgan hesitated in her search through the stacks of notes atop her desk. "…Which question do you want me to answer."

"Neither, please."

As Morgan continued to look for the after-action report, Chrom quietly waited by the door. He clasped his hands, rocking back and forth on his feet patiently.

"While you're here, we could go ahead and review the report together, once I find it," Morgan said.

"Sure."

"And we could probably talk tactics involving those last Einherjar, in case we can't talk _them_ down either. After all, we know exactly who they'll be and what kind of fighters they are."

"Mm-hm."

Morgan paused to tap her chin. "Yeah, that'll take a while… Few hours at least, all night at most."

"Mm."

Morgan glanced over at him. "…You seem a little uncomfortable, Captain. What's up?"

Chrom frowned. "It's nothing, really. I'm just not used to being in your room."

"You always worked with Dad until the wee hours of the morning," Morgan said. "I'm your new tactician! Gotta keep up the tradition."

Chrom shifted. "Y-Yeah, but… it's not the same."

"Is it because I'm a girl?"

"What? No!"

Morgan's jaw dropped. "It IS because I'm a girl! You're uncomfortable spending the night here!"

Chrom scratched his chin. "I guess… now that you mention it, it _would_ look bad if I did that."

"That is SO messed up!" Morgan exclaimed. "I'm your best friend's daughter! That sort of thing shouldn't even be CONSIDERED."

* * *

Lucina sneezed.

* * *

Chrom raised his hands defensively. "Look. You're right. You are the Shepherds' tactician, and I should be willing to discuss tactics with you as much as you need. Sorry."

Morgan shrugged, grinning. "Oh, I was just teasing. Of course you'd be antsy; I'm a really pretty girl, inviting you to stay the night! Naturally you'd be flustered. Honestly, if you were Inigo, you'd probably already be doing something stupid out of misunderstanding. My money's on 'getting naked'."

 _"Morgan!_ Do you think being inappropriate is funny? Because… it is. But it's still inappropriate!"

Morgan laughed. "Captain, if you didn't react like that every time, I don't know if I'd have the heart to keep teasing you. You're the best." She waved a piece of paper. "Anyway, after-action report?"

"Right."

The door opened just then. Cynthia entered, rubbing her eye groggily. "Oh, hey. What's up, Chrom."

Cynthia sleepily trudged across the room and flopped down, face-first, onto her bed.

Morgan leaned against her desk, smirking. "Hmhm, speaking of Inigo! Tired of getting so much attention, Cynth?"

"At least I _get_ attention," Cynthia snarked back, muffled by the bed.

"But man, it's _Inigo._ You're one of his floozies, now! How does it feel to be a floozy?"

"Hey now." Cynthia pried her face off of the comforter. "I'm not the one bringing a guy into my room for some alone time."

"Hey!" Chrom said indignantly.

"Nah, she's right," Morgan said. "Hey, Cynthia. I'm practically Dad Part Two, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, what with all the lovin' you're feeling for the Captain."

 _"Hey!"_

"Haha! Yeah, call me crazy, but I think he's into me," Morgan egged. "He got so shy when I brought him here! You think he has, like, _expectations?"_

"That's eno—"

"Nah, probably not," Cynthia rejoindered. "He probably isn't sure if you're a girl or not."

Both Morgan and Cynthia grinned widely at the color in Chrom's cheeks. "Gods, Captain, I've never _seen_ you so embarrassed!" Morgan chirped.

Chrom sighed irately. "…Geez. You two are so alike. You could go back and forth like this all day, couldn't you?"

"You've got no idea," said Cynthia dryly.

Chrom crossed his arms, shaking his head. (And hoping the blush would dissipate soon.) "So…" He gestured at Cynthia. "…You and Inigo?"

Cynthia pouted. "No. Well, not really. Well, not at all. Haven't really had time to talk. I mean, we fought together today, but, eh, who knows."

* * *

 ** _Earlier_**

"Ha ha! Another fight under the belt of the Shepherds." Cynthia turned to Inigo and prompted a high-five.

Inigo accepted—he swiftly high-fived her. Then, to her surprise, he took that same hand in his own, spun her once as if in a dance, and dipped her low.

Cynthia blinked. She was basically in Inigo's arms, and her hands were grasping Inigo's shirt in surprise.

Inigo smiled down at her, and his face began moving closer.

Realizing what was happening, Cynthia quickly forced a smile, punched him on the arm playfully, and said, "Good job today, _buddy!"_

She hastily pried herself out of his grip and marched over to her pegasus.

Inigo sighed.

* * *

 ** _Now_**

Cynthia frowned. "Doesn't really matter, though. It's _Inigo._ Like THAT would ever work out." She waved it away, and rolled over on the bed. "Anyway… don't mind me, you guys do your tactical stuff."

"Right." Chrom faced Morgan. "What do you have?"

Morgan assessed the sheet of paper. "Okay. So, as far as the Einherjar we gained—"

Knock, knock. The room's occupants faced the door, surprised.

"Uh… who is it?" Morgan asked.

"An old friend."

The voice sounded familiar, but Chrom couldn't immediately place it. He exchanged glances with Morgan and Cynthia, but they seemed as perplexed as him.

"Well, come on in, I guess," Morgan said.

The door opened. A familiar blue boot stepped in, followed by another. For a very brief moment, Chrom thought he was standing face-to-face with a short-haired Lucina.

But no. He was not.

"Marth," Cynthia breathed.

"It's you!" Chrom exclaimed. "I can't believe…" He trailed off.

Marth closed the door behind him and moved to the center of the room. "Lord Chrom, we must speak," he said, in a grave tone.

Chrom eyed the Falchion on the Hero-King's hip. "Marth… you remember me?"

Marth turned on his heel to face Chrom. His eyes were deadly serious. "I do."

"Wha—Why—? When—? _How?!"_ Morgan exclaimed. "You owe us an explanation, you know!"

"Marth…" Chrom clenched a fist. "You lied to us."

"I did," Marth said somberly. "I'm sorry… but it was unavoidable, I assure you. And it was all in your best interest. Now, I have precious little time to spare, but in that time, I will tell you everything. _Everything._ I promise you that."

"The truth?" Chrom asked.

"The truth. I swear it on my life, past and present." Marth grew somber. "But… Milord… this story is not a happy one. You will not like what you hear."

"But I have to know."

"But you _have_ to know," Marth concurred. "What I am about to tell you is incredibly important."

Morgan's blood ran cold. "…Bad news, then?"

"Very, _very_ bad news," said Marth.

Morgan swallowed her fear. "I guess… there's no sense in refusing, right? …G-Go ahead."

Marth looked to Chrom and Cynthia, and they both echoed Morgan's sentiment.

Marth took a deep breath. "…Okay. It all began long, long ago…"

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 10 –_ _ **Marth's Betrayal**_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _…I wonder if anyone actually ships Chrom/Morgan. Or if anything good has been written about that. After all, it's practically Robin/Lucina reversed, and that's pretty much the most dominant pairing on the archives. I could probably find out pretty easily, buuut I'm not sure if I want to know the answer._

 _Man, this was a fun chapter! It was nice to get a little purple for a change. It was a little exhausting, though._

 _Except for my handful of first-person stories, the narrator I usually write is some formless entity without a personality. However, to emphasize a character's thoughts or to get the reader (and me) in the pseudo-POV character's head, I sometimes have the narrator morph around their personality somewhat. For example, the purpleness of the descriptions whenever Priam's involved; the narrator's confusion regarding the Annas in Chapter 7; the dialogue-like paragraph describing Emily's first time drunk back in_ Miracle.

 _Fire Emblem Awakening, as a whole, does not have particularly dense text, so I usually go for more of a casual tone. Evidenced by the informal dialogue of most characters, especially Morgan or those with accents (Old Hubba, Brady, Algol, etc.)._


	10. Marth's Betrayal

"Ha ha, oh, Marth… How can a man who faced the Shadow Dragon be so desperate to avoid facing his own feelings?"

Marth started. "I—my—what? I don't know what you are talking about."

Nyna smiled knowingly. "You wish to send Caeda home to Talys, then, and return to Altea alone? That is what you want?"

"Well, that's where we both belong."

Marth's expression grew stern. Such a childish game of feelings and drama was behind a man with the responsibilities he had now inherited.

"I don't see what my wants have to do with anything."

* * *

Chapter 10: **Marth's Betrayal**

* * *

 ** _Over a century ago_**

Marth slowly blinked himself out of thought, and faced the one he had been speaking to. "Mm. Ah, yes. You asked for me, correct?"

"Yes. Yes we did." The elderly lady smiled warmly up at Marth from the bench on which she sat. She turned to the man seated next to her and patted his knee: "Oh, say something, dear!"

The bald old man shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, what am I s'posed ta say? "How's it goin', Einherjar? Wanna toss around the ol' pigskin?""

"Come now, be nice." The lady turned to Marth. "Sorry, dear. He has a bit of an attitude sometimes. What's your name, young man?"

"I am Marth," he said, smiling in kind. "Prince of Altea."

"Oh, would you look at that!" the lady said, tapping the man on his chest. "It _is_ him!"

"'Course it is," the man said sourly. "They've been in my family for generations. Didja think I've been protectin' _trading cards_ all this time?"

Marth frowned, confused. "Yes… I am Marth. …What were we speaking about again? I believe I zoned out for a moment."

"Oh, sweetie…" said the lady. "We _weren't_ speaking. You just woke up."

Marth blinked. "What?" He didn't feel tired; in fact, he felt as if he had been up for hours.

"Goodness, excuse me! Where oh where did I place those manners?" the lady chuckled. "Oh, here they are. Let me just put those on…"

Marth watched, amused, as the elderly woman pretended to place an invisible hat atop her head.

"There we are. Now! My name is Beatrice, but _you_ can call me Bea." She patted the old man on the back. "And this here is my husband, Old Hubba. Say hello, Hubba!"

Old Hubba waved, wearing a small, forced smile. "Heya."

"Now." Bea's expression turned serious; she adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses. "I— _we_ —have something we have to tell you. It starts like this… Marth, do you remember where we called you from?"

Marth chuckled. "Well, that's a silly question." He began to think. "Of course I just came from…"

A wall. He hit it hard.

As moments of thinking passed by, Marth slowly began to grasp that he had no idea where he had been even five minutes ago.

"…I… I don't know," he was finally able to admit.

Beatrice and Old Hubba smiled wanly.

* * *

Marth swallowed his disappointment; repelled his shock; ignored his sorrow, until all that remained was a lonely, doleful word.

 _Einherjar._

"Ya see, the Einherjar are my family heirlooms," Old Hubba continued. "There's tons of ya; even I don't know how many there are. For generations—and these generations are _long,_ lemme tell ya—the Einherjar have been in the safekeepin' of my ancestors, an' finally me." He nudged Beatrice. "When, all of a sudden, my darlin' wife here has herself a little idea…"

"I'm not going to bore you with the details," Bea said, still smiling, "but, long story short, me and my husband… well… we can't have children."

"And where others would say 'woohoo, no protection ever,' Bea had a different thought," Old Hubba muttered.

Beatrice ignored her husband. "The Einherjar!" she exclaimed giddily, clapping her hands together. "So many of you… we could have such a large family! Such a loving group… Perfect! A _perfect_ use for the cards, instead of letting them just waste away!"

Marth processed this information. "A family…" he murmured.

"What do _you_ think, Marth?" Bea asked. "You're an Einherjar yourself. You tell me: would you be a part of this family? Do you think the others will be, too?"

"So I am the first?" Marth asked.

"Yes! It seemed only fitting. After all, you're Marth! THE Marth!"

Marth tilted his head. _"The_ Marth…"

He was tempted to ask, "How long has it been? How long since the war against Dolhr?"

But he found he did not want to know the answer.

"Right now… it seems lonely," Marth began cautiously. "Me, alone… But with others to share this with…?"

He looked around. The sun was bright in the sky; verdant planes stretched as far as the eye could see in most directions. Humble woods sprawled to the south, and on the western horizon, snow-capped mountains towered; a river ran from them, which narrowed into a creek as it neared the southern woods.

Marth turned around, facing the single piece of architecture to be seen: a solitary mansion in the middle of the plains. Several stories high, and twice as wide.

"It's an awfully big house for just two people," Beatrice said quietly.

Marth turned to face her, smiling. "…With others, we could be a real family."

Bea brightened. Though he didn't want Marth to see it, Old Hubba felt some excitement as well.

"Then today is a _very_ momentous day!" Beatrice cheered. "Today is the day our family begins!"

* * *

It was an itch in the back of Marth's mind. One he could never scratch.

 _Einherjar._

But for that day, and the next, and potentially every day after, he had plenty of things to take his mind off of that itch.

The family.

* * *

"Yes, welcome, welcome!" Bea said excitedly. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Sigurd."

* * *

"So yer name is Celica, right?" Old Hubba said gruffly. "Welcome, I guess. Ya know yer an Einherjar?"

* * *

"Good morning, Florina," Marth said. "Could you tell me where you came from?"

Florina's young face twisted into a confused look. "Um—Um—"

Marth smiled. "That's quite alright. I actually have something to tell you about yourself—something we both share, in fact. Now, this may come as a surprise, possibly even a little disturbing, but I swear I am your friend, and I am here for you. I will understand your feelings. Florina… are you ready to hear the truth?"

Florina nodded determinedly. "…Y-Yes! Yes, I am."

* * *

A new life unfolded. One hundred Einherjar: the children of Old Hubba and Beatrice. All lived together, under the same massive roof of the solitary Outrealm mansion.

One _hundred._ A hundred heroes of ancient times, now united as one family.

The early days were awkward as the Einherjar grew accustomed to their new lifestyle—one not of armor and war, but of loose clothes and gardening. Those who could hunt took to the job with gusto, those who could cook did so, and those who could build added more rooms to the mansion; even _it_ lacked enough space for a hundred new guests.

But the family, indeed, settled into its new life. Marth grew close with many people he could never have possibly even met before, separated by incomprehensible time and distance.

As the weeks went by, and soon the months, Marth could occasionally close his eyes and not remember Archanea. With this new family, he didn't even remember the war.

* * *

"Could you fetch me the azalea seeds, dear?" Beatrice asked, removing her hands from the dirt in order to point.

"Yes, ma'am." Marth began to sift through the piles of seed bags. "Hmm… Here we are."

Bea smiled brightly as she accepted the bag. "Thank you, sweetie." Then she paused, looking over Marth's shoulder. Marth followed her gaze.

Ephraim and Eirika were approaching. Eirika's face was bright with a smile, and she gestured eagerly behind her, almost breathless with excitement. "L-Lady Beatrice! We found… we found…"

"We found a door," Ephraim said, only somewhat more calmly. "Well—not a normal door. A… a portal, a, uh…"

"Oh!" Beatrice's smile returned. "So you found it, didja? I suppose it's time. You fellas have been here long enough; I should explain the Outrealm Gate." She brushed off her hands and slowly stood. "Marth dear, would you gather everyone outside the front door? My husband included of course."

"Yes, ma'am." Marth nodded at his fellow Einherjar and left.

* * *

"The Outrealm Gate was the door to our pasts. Not our true pasts, mind you; like us Einherjar, these Outrealms were merely facsimiles, flawless recreations, but without the true substance behind them. In this case, that meant that these lands were empty of all inhabitants. I recall wandering through an empty Aurelis, a vacant Daein, a hollow Thracia…"

Marth trailed off, smiling at the memories.

"Truly, the lands were breathtaking spectacles. You, my friends, may not have had the opportunity to explore these Outrealms you've entered, but let me tell you that they are truly magnificent. I remember… field trips, of sorts, where we would journey to the many worlds for the sole purpose of sightseeing." He sighed. "Those were… simpler days."

* * *

A peaceful year had passed.

* * *

"Florina," Marth called.

The violet-haired girl turned away from her pegasus, smiling at him. "Y-Yes, Prince Marth?"

Marth entered the stables, looking around at the plethora of mounts. "How is Huey doing? Is his leg better?"

Florina stroked her pegasus's snout. "He's doing m-much better, thank you. I was just about to take him for a little workout, fly him around a bit…"

Marth smiled. "By all means! Do you mind if I watch?"

Florina shrank. "Um… o-okay, I guess, but I get real nervous when I'm watched."

"Nonsense. You used to fly in combat, didn't you?"

Florina clutched Huey's harness. "That was a long time ago…"

Marth sighed. "Okay, then. Come see me whenever you're finished, okay? I found a wonderful little clearing in the southern woods. I thought you might like to see the wildlife there."

Florina brightened. "Y-Yes, of course! Thank you, Prince Marth!"

"Haha!" Marth waved it away. "Please, Florina, we are close friends. You may call me Marth."

Florina nodded. "R-Right—Marth! You know… I can't really think of anyone I'm as close with as you here. I mean, you've been with me since I came out of my card! …Y-You're my best friend, Marth."

Marth tilted his head. "More so than Lady Lyndis?"

Florina looked away. "…O-Okay, _second_ best friend."

She and Marth both laughed.

"All right then." Marth waved. "See you later, Florina."

"Bye."

Marth departed the stables.

He walked around for a bit. Checked by the gardens, but Bea had more than enough helpers there. Checked by the kitchens, before he remembered he had no cooking talent.

Marth stood outside the front door and slowly began to grasp that he had no task. He didn't want to wander too far from the mansion, or Florina wouldn't be able to find him, and there was otherwise nothing else he wanted or was needed to do.

Marth sat on the mansion's front steps, rested his elbows on his knees, and cradled his chin in his hands thoughtfully. He stared at the woods to the south.

 _Some time alone,_ he mused. _That's quite unusual. Several of the Elibeans are visiting their homeland, a few others are taking an afternoon nap, and everyone else has some kind of task. Everyone but me._

"…aven…"

Marth's eyes narrowed at the memory.

 _"Pardon, sire?"_

 _"I am a craven."_

Marth winced. He had said those words in regards to his flight from Altea, and the cowardly pit of self-hatred that had festered in his heart as a result. _Poor Frey._

Marth had no idea how long it had been, but there was no doubt in his mind that his crusade against Dolhr had ended long, long ago; centuries perhaps, but possibly millennia as far as he knew.

He knew he was an Einherjar, and that he, himself, had never actually spoken those words. However, like in any other moment he had alone with his thoughts, the same self-hatred appeared.

 _Why am I here, alive again, and doing NOTHING? There are kingdoms to save… causes to fight for. Yet instead, I sit on stair steps and wait to look at a nice little clearing._

Marth shook his head. _…This is the sort of peace we strive for. Days where I can sit on stair steps are the days Frey sacrificed himself to let me have._

 _It's not that I wish to fight. It's that… there should be more for me than this. I want to be the Marth I'm supposed to be… But I don't see what my wants have to do with anything._

Marth's eye was caught; someone approached, running. "Florina?" _No… Est?_

Marth stood and procured a smile for her. "What's the matter, Est?"

As Est drew closer, Marth suddenly noticed the tears running down her face, and her quivering lip, and the anxiety in her movement. Marth's face fell.

"P-Prince Marth," Est choked. "It's… It's…" She shook her head. "It's terrible…"

Est explained what had happened.

Marth's hands fell limp. His eyes were wide with numb surprise.

* * *

"The azure fires were still clearing from the air when I arrived. All that was left behind was a massive crowd of somber onlookers, and a lonely card.

"It was Huey. His leg hadn't been in perfect shape; he had bucked in pain and thrown Florina off, forty meters in the air. Her neck had broken, and she slowly, silently faded away for a quarter of an hour, before finally succumbing and returning to her card.

"None of us had experienced such a death. The final blow, however, came when I resurrected her. I had hoped that… perhaps she retained her memories, perhaps she remembered all of our time together…

"But, of course, she hadn't. She was an Einherjar.

"The mansion was quiet that day."

* * *

Marth wandered aimlessly. The Florina he knew was dead. This new one looked just like her and talked just like her, but was a year younger than the Florina who had fallen from her horse today.

Marth could taste bile in his throat. It wasn't fair. This was peace. This was… nothing. And yet he must still experience loss. It wasn't fair.

He stepped into the Outrealm Gate, not caring where it took him.

* * *

The island was small and uninhabited. Mostly woods.

Marth sat on the beach, hugging his knees. He stared out into the ocean; to the north was a black line across the horizon, signifying some unfamiliar landmass. _Perhaps I should try swimming,_ he thought bleakly.

"Marth?! What are you doing here?"

Marth looked over his shoulder. Beatrice, of all people, was rushing over, seemingly panicked.

Marth slowly tried to stand. He hadn't the drive to do even that, he thought, but he heard a nagging voice in the back of his mind saying that he must always, always keep his bearing; thus, his politeness overrode his grief, and he faced Beatrice.

"Oh, dear—you can't be here," Bea said quickly. She took Marth's hand and began leading him back toward the Outrealm Gate. "Come along now…"

* * *

Beatrice knew Marth did not want to return to the manse just yet. He needed more time in peace.

So, Marth soon found himself sitting along the creek running through the southern woods. Beatrice took a seat next to him.

The two were quiet for a long time. The creek rustled along, providing pleasant ambience.

Marth slowly broke the silence; first by clearing his throat of emotion, then with words. "Where… Where was I, Beatrice? …What Outrealm am I forbidden from?"

Bea's eyes were filled with pity. "That… was not an Outrealm." She glanced over at Marth. "That was the real world, honey."

Marth looked at her, alarmed. "That—That was the Inrealm?! There were people there—that was a thriving world, the one I left?"

Bea smiled, rubbing Marth's arm consolingly. "Yes. It's the one you left long ago, darling. That place you were in used to be Archanea."

"Used to be…?"

Marth bit his tongue. This was the question he'd never wanted to ask, and he still didn't want to.

…Or so he would like himself to believe. The curiosity ate at him.

"What… is it called, now?"

"Ylisse," Bea said pleasantly. "Run by a beautiful young Exalt… She has a bright future ahead, I'm certain."

Marth looked down, smiling. "I see… Ylisse. That is my homeland's future…"

"You mustn't go back there," Bea warned. "If the legendary Marth were to return… it would cause heartache and drama the world over. Nobody needs that, right?"

Marth's smile slowly decayed. He stared into the flowing creek pensively.

"Right."

Bea patted Marth on the back. "Oh, honey…"

She pulled Marth into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder. She quietly shushed him, stroking his back with motherly affection.

Marth still fought the tears. Even now, he couldn't let his weakness be known. He squeezed his eyes shut as a last line of defense.

Footsteps came from behind, and Beatrice finally released Marth. Both turned to see Old Hubba approaching, cane in hand.

"Talkin' to him like he's yer child," Old Hubba scoffed. "You know he actually ain't blood, right?"

Bea rolled her eyes, smiling. "Oh, come now, Hubs. Lighten up a little!"

"Hmph."

* * *

"Old Hubba was always like that, really. He was never entirely on board with the whole 'Einherjar family' idea, and Florina's death only seemed to convince him more that we were not human.

"It was a lot of little things. Tiny little slights he would sneak into his sentences to remind us of what we were.

"His favorite word was 'automaton.'

"I grew to hate that word. It is a reminder of everything I am, and everything I am not.

"But, I could never hate Old Hubba. He always treated me as an exception. As if I were Old Hubba's true son. As if I were Old Hubba's favorite."

* * *

Marth and Old Hubba sat on each end of a small canoe, holding small fishing rods. The lake was still and tranquil, and the birds in the surrounding woods chirped in the distance.

"…Listen," Old Hubba began slowly. "I didn't mean to insult ya earlier. When I call you guys automatons… Er, automata. Automati…? Whatever. When I call ya that, I ain't tryin' to hurt yer feelings. …You know that, right?"

Marth forced a smile. "I'm… certain you don't have malicious intentions. Honestly, Old Hubba, you don't seem the type to bear ill will."

Old Hubba laughed. "Haha! I dunno about _that._ Thanks, though."

"Anytime, sir."

"Say, Marth…" Old Hubba leaned in closely, conspiratorially. "Mind if I ask ya a question?"

"Not sure why you would ask about asking, when you've had no compunctions before. …Er, that is, I do not mind."

"Two questions, actually. Still good?"

"Haha… Of course."

Hubba pointed at the weapon on Marth's hip. "Ain't that uncomfortable?"

Marth touched the hilt of his rapier. "This? Oh, not really. Certainly something I got used to during the war."

"You know it's not wartime anymore? Ya don't need that here."

"I know," said Marth uncertainly. "But… I feel naked without it. Not in the sense that I must be armed, that I must always have something that can kill on my person… Rather, it gives me the security that I could protect you, should the worst happen." He pointed at the lake. "Were a monster to burst out of this water right now, I could defend you from it, thanks to this rapier."

Old Hubba laughed. "Ohoho, fine, fine! I can't argue with logic like that. You carry that weapon, mister; an' while yer at it, tell the other Einherjar to do the same! Hell, maybe I should start carryin' a tome around, myself."

Marth was fairly certain that the old man was joking, but the idea struck him as a fantastic one. _I'll be sure to tell everyone, then._

"Now, on to my second question!" Hubba grinned from ear to ear. "Got yer eyes on any of the womenfolk around here?"

Marth blinked. "What? Like—the other Einherjar?"

"No, _Bea,"_ Old Hubba snarked. "'Course I mean the Einherjar. There's some cute lasses among ya! Mm… Personally, if I was you, I'd go for Shanna. She is _cute._ An' y'all match."

"Short blue hair, right," Marth muttered. "No, I haven't. And I have no intention of pursuing Shanna either."

"Way I see it," Old Hubba pointed out, "is that, all these gals here, and you not wanting to pursue a one of 'em, _ever?_ …Seems kinda lonely to me."

He then went back to fishing.

* * *

"Romantic advice. Old Hubba used to _love_ giving that to me. Any time we went fishing—which was fairly often; it was our preferred pastime together—he would talk. And who was I to argue? He and Beatrice loved each other so dearly. More than once I happened upon them… well… appreciating each other, very loudly." He smiled. "I could really only think, 'Wow, good for them.' Being so elderly, and…"

Marth realized he had caught strange looks from his audience. He flushed red. "Th-That was a rather personal detail. I apologize."

* * *

"Like me for Old Hubba, Beatrice also had a few favorites she kept around. In fact, these few Einherjar were the only ones under _her_ command; the rest of us belonged to Old Hubba. Beatrice reasoned that her favorite Einherjar were the only ones she would ever need. And this whole 'ownership' thing was just a formality, anyway.

"Leif… Lena… Micaiah… Seliph…

"…And…"

* * *

Marth paced nervously, biting his thumbnail. Days of planning, of working up his nerve—he had to stay in motion just to keep his mind from putting this off for another day, as he had done the last three days.

"Ah!" he said, accidentally out loud, as the one he was waiting for finally turned the corner. He hurried over to her, putting on his best smile. "Caeda, hello!"

Caeda smiled. "Prince Marth! Hello. How has your day been?"

"Good, good." Marth began walking alongside her. "I went fishing today."

"Again?" laughed Caeda. "Isn't that the third time this week?"

"Y-You've been keeping count?"

"Haha!" Caeda stopped walking. "So, to what do I owe this conversation?"

Marth hit a blank. "I—er—I just wished to… speak! Yes, speak with you. Like old times."

"Old times," Caeda chuckled. "I suppose you must be referring to your time on Talys, after escaping Altea?"

Marth nodded. "I suppose… or our time during the war."

"Oh, Marth…" Caeda's face fell. "You know as well as I do that we rarely spoke during the war."

"Ah. Well, I… with you… just being _next_ to you, I mean… The thing is, I never felt the need for us to speak."

Caeda blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"N-No, I meant—! I meant, when I was with you, I never felt I had to say a word." _That's how that should have come out._

"I see." Caeda smiled. "Well then… shall we continue the practice?"

Marth hesitated. "…Are you telling me… that you don't wish to speak with me?"

"Hahaha! Oh, of course that's not what I'm saying, Marth." She'd dropped the honorific, Marth suddenly noticed. "All I mean is… we don't speak of it."

"Don't speak of… what?"

"You know exactly what," said Caeda coyly. _"This._ This—in the air, right here. Your words cannot make the leap, and to be honest, I do not trust mine either. What I understand, is that _you_ understand; and now, I trust that _you_ understand that _I_ understand."

"I understand," Marth said. A smile dawned on his face. "I… understand."

Caeda tilted her head, smiling. "…Good. Now… we both understand what _this_ is. We needn't speak of it any longer."

"But why not?" Marth insisted. "We—we both understand—so why not take the next step? Why not… voice it? Make the leap?"

"Because," Caeda explained, her smile dimming somewhat. "Marth… we have so much time. The future is _forever_ … We will have so much time then. What we will not have again, is what we have _now._ Even though we both understand… I don't believe we are ready. Marth, I wish to savor every moment, every step of the way… forever." She smiled. "If you are patient… Marth… we _will_ make the leap."

A lump caught in Marth's throat. "Caeda…"

 _We both understand; so why voice it? We are already together, forever…_

* * *

"Four years. Four.

"Four years of a happy, quirky family. Old Hubba, Bea, me… and Caeda…

"As you may have guessed by now, this is not how it would always be."

* * *

"It's a beautiful night." Bea smiled as she peered through the window's blinds. "Mm… Such a bright moon. I imagine the stars look wonderful." She turned around. "Marth, dear… would you mind going for a walk with me outside?"

Marth looked up from his book and smiled back. "Of course. I would be happy to." He closed his book and stood.

"Let me get out of these pajamas and I'll meet you out there by the woods," Bea said cheerfully. "Go on, now."

"Certainly. I will wait for you there." He inclined his head respectfully, and he left the study.

* * *

Marth breathed in the cold night as he walked. The moon was bigger than Marth had ever seen it, and the stars were as bright as Beatrice had hypothesized. Wonderful night for a walk.

 _Roy often walks this path,_ Marth thought, smiling slightly. _He and Lilina frequently explore the woods together._

As often occurred, Marth happily thought of Caeda. _I should take her for more walks. Talys's Outrealm would be ideal, sometime…_

Marth reached the edge of the woods, and halted. He casually paced along the path as he waited for Beatrice to show.

 _Perhaps tomorrow,_ Marth thought. _Yes… Tomorrow would be perfect, as a matter of fact. The sunlight should be beautiful along Talys's waves._

A reflection of moonlight off of the grass caught Marth's idle eye. He approached the wet patch.

As he drew closer, he became more and more curious about the grass. It was wet, certainly… just a small spot. And, though the moon was bright, the night still made it hard to tell… but, was it discolored? This wet patch… was it…?

A warm light began to grow. Marth's waking thought was 'sunlight,' but his four-year-rusty combat instincts quickly dismissed that thought for the truth.

Marth rolled to the side, and the magical fireball flew overhead.

Marth was back on his feet, rapier drawn, in an instant. He searched for his attacker, who seemed to be striking from the woods.

A flash of magical runes, signaling another spell being cast, alerted Marth to his attacker's position; after dodging the second fireball, he charged at his enemy.

He heard footsteps from his shadowy opponent—whether approaching or retreating, he couldn't tell.

It soon became apparent that it was retreating. Marth was briefly tempted to let the attacker run, but then he realized: _I can't allow someone this dangerous to escape!_

Marth chased the mage deeper into the woods.

He kept his rapier at the ready as he moved, looking around constantly. The deeper he went, the thicker the woods became, and the more hiding spots became available to this assassin.

Blue and red suddenly flicked before Marth's vision, and the mage pressed a palm against Marth's chest before glowing with magical runes again.

Marth's eyes widened in surprise. The fire burst point-blank, throwing Marth off of his feet.

Marth landed on the soil, winded. He couldn't remember the last time he had been in a fight, and he certainly hadn't prepared for this one.

But he couldn't afford to waste so much time lying around. He clambered back to his feet, readying his sword.

His breath caught. "Lilina?!"

Lilina stood ahead, glaring at him. She stood in a fighting pose, holding a Fire tome under her arm.

"Lilina, what's going on?" Marth pressed. "You could've hurt me!"

Lilina didn't speak a word. She spun on her heel and stomped into the earth; a fireball coalesced over her head and quickly descended upon Marth.

Marth dodged the attack. "Lilina! _Answer me!"_ he demanded.

Lilina didn't reply. She instead expunged another bout of Fire onto Marth, who dodged once again.

 _She can't hear me,_ Marth thought. _Why won't she listen?_

He gritted his teeth. _Well, I'm not going to stand here and take it._

Marth charged at Lilina, weaving through the patchwork of Fire she greeted him with. Though she tried backing away, he was soon on top of her. He shoved his elbow into her ribs and tried dislodging the Fire tome from her grip.

Lilina twirled away from his attempt to disarm her, and struck Marth with another direct burst of Fire.

Marth fell to a knee, groaning in pain. He could taste blood. "Lilina!" he shouted hoarsely. "Don't make me fight you!"

Lilina answered with another fireball. Marth sluggishly dodged out of the way, still shaking off the previous hit.

"Fine!" Marth called. "You leave me no choice!"

He raised his rapier and dashed at her.

Marth swung twice. Lilina deflected each with small bursts of fire, and she jabbed two fingers forward to direct an attack at Marth.

Marth seized her wrist, cutting off the flames at the source, and pressed his rapier against her throat. _"Yield!"_ he commanded.

Lilina's face drew into a determined scowl, and she blasted Marth's sword away with her free hand. She pressed her palm against Marth's chest once again, and he (still having a grip on her other wrist) brought his elbow down on Lilina's arm, directing the fireball into the earth.

The burst of fire threw off Marth's balance; he staggered forward, on top of Lilina.

Lilina silently struggled against Marth; tiny, useless flames sputtered from both of her hands.

Marth released her wrist and grabbed her throat instead. He pushed down against her, his physical strength far outmatching hers. She fruitlessly grabbed at his arm as she choked.

 _If I can at least get her unconscious,_ Marth thought, grimacing as he applied more force.

Both of Lilina's hands grasped at Marth's shirt. Marth winced, guilty; Lilina's eyes were wide and directly focused on his.

Lilina's eyebrows furrowed. For a moment, Marth thought she was concentrating.

 _Oh, gods, she is,_ Marth thought blankly, looking down at her hands on his chest.

Both of Lilina's hands glowed red-hot, and a fireball shot forth. Marth felt a searing pain across his abdomen, and not much else until the slamming of his back against dirt.

He wheezed for air, trying what he could to get a glimpse of his opponent. Lilina was rising to her feet, rubbing her aching throat; soon, however, she locked her eyes on Marth, and she staggered over, wielding her Fire tome.

Marth hazily reached for his rapier. It was somewhere nearby…

Lilina stumbled on her path over. Small embers flickered from her fingertips; she couldn't seem to conjure another fireball. She glanced at her Fire tome, which was evidently running low on power.

A few more tries, and she managed to get something going: a small stream of flame, about dagger-length. She wrapped her hand around the weapon and turned back to Marth.

Marth's fingertips brushed against his rapier.

Lilina staggered to a knee. She needn't get up again, however; she was certainly close enough to reach Marth's heart.

Marth grabbed the rapier as Lilina raised the weapon over her head for the kill.

Lilina fell forward, about to run the dagger home. Her momentum, as well as the force Marth applied up at her, drove her abdomen roughly halfway down the blade of Marth's rapier.

The dagger of flames petered out. Lilina's hands cupped the blade of the rapier as she stared down at it, disbelieving.

Marth slowly sat up. He put a hand on Lilina's shoulder to steady her, and he started to lay her down on her back.

Her eyes were focused on him as she trembled silently. Her lips quivered, as though trying to form words.

Marth finally eased her onto the grass. He swiftly removed the rapier from her stomach; aside from the pain drawing a sharp breath from her, Lilina remained silent.

Lilina's hands were clasped over the wound, and she continued to stare up at Marth. Her eyes seemed to be conveying words—but none that Marth could comprehend.

Soon, Lilina's jerking hiccups and quiet tremors slowed to a halt. She finally relaxed, and released one last, final sigh.

Marth looked away. _Lilina…_

He tensed. _Bea! I have to make sure she's safe…_

As bits of midnight-blue flame began to rise from Lilina's body, Marth quickly retraced the path he had taken through the woods.

* * *

"I still remember her face. I'll never forget the look she gave me."

* * *

Marth didn't make it very far before a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned, raising his sword in time to deflect a bronze weapon.

Marth readied his guard, but the hooded assassin relented.

Marth frowned, lowering his sword. "…Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter." The thief's voice was raspy and high; this man was no Einherjar, for sure. Nobody Marth had ever met. "I'm… the end, you could say. Heh heh heh."

"The end?" Marth muttered. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been stalking this mansion for _weeks,"_ the thief chuckled. "Watching, waiting… waiting for a time I could pick this place apart, _Einherjar_. And I finally found it tonight."

Marth tensed. "What?! Explain!"

"Your red-haired friend and his girl—they came by this way all the time," the thief said smugly. "All it took was a little surprise from the trees, and they both fell like rocks."

 _Roy and Lilina,_ Marth thought, his blood chilling. _He killed them._

"So after I pick up their cards and bring 'em back, I swear 'em to silence and send 'em off to kill anyone they can." He shrugged. "You took care of the girl _damn_ quick. She didn't even get to kill anyone."

 _Roy is unaccounted for,_ Marth thought suddenly. _I have to find him before anyone else does!_

"Now, I can't have you making too much more trouble," the thief said. "Roy's my best bet against you folks, and the more he takes out by surprise, the better; all of your losses become a gain for me."

"I won't let you—"

The thief was waiting for Marth to start speaking, and lunged for him as soon as he did. Marth quickly sidestepped, grabbed the passing thief's shoulder, and ran him through with his rapier.

Marth removed his sword from the thief's back, causing the thief to fall forward into the dirt.

"Heh… heh… heh…" the thief sputtered.

"You've failed," Marth stated. "You didn't gain anything."

"Y-Yeah… but at least… I ain't dying… for nothin'," the thief cackled.

A chill ran down Marth's spine. _Bea._

He continued backtracking through the woods, leaving the thief to his fate.

* * *

"I never learned that thief's name," Marth said solemnly. "I suppose… it didn't matter, in the end."

* * *

Marth broke through the tree line, immediately slowing down to a walk. The red-haired youth was crouched not far ahead.

Marth staggered a step forward. "Roy…"

Roy glanced over his shoulder. He stood up from Beatrice's motionless body and turned to face Marth.

"Bea," Marth rasped. "You… You…"

Roy wiped his bloodied steel sword on his sleeve.

"You'll pay," Marth hissed. "I know you're not you… I _know_ you're being manipulated… But I am going to kill you, Roy." He drew his rapier. "Get ready. It ends _now."_

Roy readied his sword. Marth didn't give him another moment; he immediately went on an all-out offensive. He forwent his training, his defense, his _thoughts,_ and simply allowed his sword arm to work.

Roy retreated before the assault, not having an answer to this unbridled aggression. Marth landed several significant hits without Roy even getting a chance to retaliate.

Marth relented for a brief moment, lulling Roy into a false sense of comfort that Marth's assault was over. Roy prepared his attack.

Marth backed away in anticipation, and sure enough, Roy's attack sailed empty. Marth spun on his heel, bringing his rapier in an arc over his head, and the tip of the weapon traced a bleeding line down Roy's face.

Roy grasped at his eye, grunting in pain.

As Roy staggered away, Marth noticed several of the mansion's windows lighting up. The bashing of metal was drawing attention at last.

Marth and Roy continued to duel for several more minutes. Silhouettes began to exit the mansion in search of the disturbance.

Roy made one misstep. He was ever at the disadvantage, but all it took was one mistake to end this fight. Whether it was dodging incorrectly, or losing his footing, or poor spacing of his attack, Marth would not remember.

All he would remember was how he had run Roy through.

Marth stepped closer, catching Roy and stopping him from falling. Marth shoved the sword in deeper, twisted it; whatever it took to elicit noise from his silent opponent. Roy dropped his weapon, with his hands futilely gripping at Marth instead.

Marth finally released Roy and allowed him to collapse onto the ground. Roy's expression was already blank, and no sooner had he touched the earth than he began his fiery decomposition.

"No! _No! NO!"_

Marth's satisfaction in his kill instantly burned away. As he turned around, he saw a number of Einherjar circling around a small, elderly man, who was simply holding his wife in the middle of the grass.

Marth glared back at Roy; the flames had disappeared, and all that remained was a card.

Marth left it behind.

* * *

"We found it later."

Marth was sitting in a chair in the center of the room, and had taken to staring at the ground.

"My treatment of Roy was not fair," Marth said quietly. "He… he… was manipulated. It wasn't his fault."

"Marth…" Morgan said quietly. "I'm so sorry…"

Marth looked up at her.

"When you said this would be a sad story, I didn't know how sad," Cynthia murmured.

Marth smiled. The painful memories this story had dredged up had thoroughly removed his humor, but he still found Cynthia's statement so horribly funny.

"Cynthia, was it?" Marth asked.

She nodded.

Marth leaned in closer. Whispering, in such a tone that it was practically a hiss: "I _wish_ that was the worst of it."

* * *

Old Hubba howled into the sky, clutching Beatrice in his arms.

Marth sheathed his rapier, grimacing at the pitiful sight. "Sir…" he murmured. The rest of the Einherjar looked on sadly.

But Hubba was inconsolable, and he pressed his face into his wife's sleeve, continuing to moan in despair.

For several minutes, Old Hubba did not budge from his pained position. Marth waited, uncomfortable but patient.

 _"Marth!"_ Old Hubba roared, suddenly looking up from his dead wife.

Marth blinked, surprised. "Y-Yes?"

Old Hubba's eyes brimmed with tears, but Marth could sense a deep-seated fury hiding behind the ancient man's pain. "This can _never_ happen again," Old Hubba hissed. "This _will_ never happen again. I'll make sure of it."

"I swear to help in any way I can," Marth replied determinedly. "I swear it upon the name of my ancestor, Anri."

Old Hubba slowly placed Beatrice's body in the grass and stood. "I-I believe you, Marth." Hubba wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I… believe _you. You,_ Marth."

Old Hubba looked around at the other Einherjar. His jaw slowly set, and the anger began to rise to the forefront. "This… this li'l family here… This's over. I can't keep track of so many of you… things. You… _automatons."_ He reached into his robe, drawing an Arcthunder tome.

Marth's eyes narrowed.

Hubba looked around the crowd. His eyes slowly settled on a random Einherjar: Cain.

Cain's combat instincts began to fight at him. "M-Milord, what's—?"

Hubba loosed a powerful jolt of Arcthunder, striking Cain in the gut and flooring him.

"Cain!" Marth cried, shocked.

The crowd of Einherjar broiled in alarm, many reaching for their weapons.

 _"Do not move! Sheath your weapons!"_ Hubba commanded, and every Einherjar's hand stayed. Marth found himself rooted to the spot, unable to reach for his rapier. He struggled fruitlessly against his invisible bonds.

Hubba turned back to the fallen cavalier. Cain's breastplate smoldered from the magic blast, and he gasped for breath, blood trickling from his mouth.

Old Hubba leveled his palm at the cavalier's head. Cain raised an unarmed hand—he was too far gone for words, but his eyes still pleaded for mercy from his master.

Hubba's eyes narrowed, and he fired another bolt into Cain. The Einherjar disintegrated into midnight blue flames, leaving nothing behind but a card.

The rest of the Einherjar watched in horror.

Old Hubba slowly reached down, picked up the card, and placed it in his satchel. He eyed the crowd, shaking lingering sparks from his palm, and chose his next target.

"Need to keep this number… _manageable!"_ He aimed another bolt at Lex, making quick work of the axeman.

"Need to keep it… _simple!"_ He killed Rebecca.

"I always knew this was a bad idea!" He finished Lyn.

"I told Bea! I _told_ her!" He murdered Celica and Wrys.

"This was always too fragile! I _knew_ this would happen!" Old Hubba's eyes burned with a rabid fury as he slaughtered Seth, and Quan, and Eirika.

Florina trembled as the old man loomed over her. "P-Please… I promise, I'll never—"

He disposed of her before she finished her sentence.

The Einherjar could only stand still, shaking with terror as their inevitable doom approached.

"You monster," Eliwood growled. "You murderer!" He glanced over at where Lyn had previously stood. "You'll pay for this, old man. I swear it!"

Old Hubba snorted. "…You _things_ pretend to be alive, but yer not. You die, you come back. You forget everything. When we speak next, you'll be chummy as the day we met. You won't know nothin'. You ain't real, and this ain't murder… This is _cleaning."_

Old Hubba fired a bolt through Eliwood's chest, killing the lord.

Marth gritted his teeth, helplessly watching as Old Hubba systematically executed the rest of the family.

It wasn't long—and on the other hand, it was an eternity—before all that remained of the area was Marth, the body, and a littering of cards. The final blast of Arcthunder rang in the air.

"This isn't what she would've wanted," Marth said. Rage built up within him—rage at Old Hubba, rage at his own helplessness.

"What _she_ wanted got 'er _killed,"_ Old Hubba stated flatly, as he began collecting the cards from the ground. "I ain't lettin' this happen again. From now on, we're doin' things _my_ way."

"Old Hubba…" Marth pleaded. "It doesn't have to be this way."

"It shoulda _always_ been this way, kid. My only mistake was listenin' to Bea four years ago."

Old Hubba stowed all of the cards into his pocket, and turned to Marth. "Now listen here, sonny. I'll let you move, but you are never, _ever_ allowed to wave one o' them weapons at me. Y'hear?"

Marth grimaced. "…Yes, sir."

"Good."

Old Hubba raised a hand, causing Marth to flinch.

Hubba's hand wavered, but after a painful, contemplative moment, he finally placed it on Marth's shoulder. Marth looked into Old Hubba's eyes, and he saw desperation. Grief.

"Marth," Old Hubba breathed, with a quivering lip, "tell me I can trust you. Tell me… you'll always be there, okay? You'll always be by my side?"

It was sudden. Marth had never felt such pity. It engulfed, it consumed; for just a moment, he thought he could even feel the old man's pain.

"Sir," Marth said. A pained tear ran down his cheek. "I'll… always be your friend. Always."

Old Hubba's eyes closed, and he looked down, as if in prayer. He stood there for a long time, still gripping Marth's shoulder firmly.

"You're the only one I can trust," Old Hubba murmured. "That's… always been true." He released Marth, and turned back toward the mansion.

Marth painfully watched Old Hubba walk away.

 _I have to do something._

Marth took a step.

 _I can't save everyone._

 _But I can save some of them._

Marth broke into a run.

* * *

The mansion was a mess. Scorch marks lined the walls where Old Hubba had missed his targets; broken objects lay everywhere. Footsteps and screams could be heard from upstairs, where the old man was unquestionably continuing his genocide.

Marth quietly slipped through the halls. Such stealth was unnecessary, given the clamor upstairs, but he couldn't risk being discovered.

To the kitchen Marth slunk. He knew of a few hiding spots in there, and he knew he wasn't the only one who did.

Marth knocked on the stove a few times. "It's me," he whispered.

A head peeked out from behind it. "…Prince Marth?"

Marth sighed in relief. "Lena. You're all right."

Lena left her cover. "Prince Marth, what's going on? I heard screams—magic—I thought…"

"It's Old Hubba," Marth said grimly. "He's murdering… everybody."

"What?!" Lena exclaimed in horror. "Wh-Why?!"

"There's no _time,_ Lena! You have to get out of here."

"I can't go alone!" she said. "Wh-Where am I even supposed to _go?"_

"I don't know," Marth said. "Anywhere but here. I shouldn't even know where; Old Hubba could get that information out of me. The important thing is, you need to get out of here. If Old Hubba finds you, he _will_ kill you."

"Well… Why hasn't he killed _you?"_ Lena asked.

Marth sighed. "B-Because… he trusts me, still. But he won't for much longer, if he sees me with you."

"How could he possibly be killing everyone? There's no way he's stronger than everyone here!"

"He freezes you with words," Marth sighed. "We're Einherjar; we can't refuse his orders. He just says 'stand still' and we…"

Marth trailed off. _Wait._

He looked at Lena. "You… You're not under Old Hubba's command, are you? You were one of Beatrice's…"

"Y-Yes, I am," she said.

Marth broke into a smile. "I-I _can_ save you! Anyone under Bea's command… doesn't have to obey his word! You can fight back…"

"He's not alone anymore," Lena said. "I heard him walking with a few others… they were helping him kill."

Marth scowled. "What?! He's using the Einherjar he's killed to help him…!"

"I know where the others are," Lena said hopefully. "Micaiah, Seliph, Leif, Caeda… I know where they are. I can go get them, and we can escape."

"Do that," Marth said. "I'll try to keep him off of you."

"B-But what about you?" Lena stammered. "How will you…?"

She could already see the answer in Marth's eyes.

"Old Hubba needs me," Marth stated. "He's not himself. Even if he doesn't know it yet… he needs me."

Slowly, Lena swallowed her fear, and she nodded. "Okay. I trust in you, Your Highness. Good luck."

"And better luck to you."

Marth and Lena went their separate ways.

* * *

"Sir."

Old Hubba, as well as his small cadre of Einherjar, turned to face Marth. The Einherjar readied their weapons, but Old Hubba stayed their hands. "Marth?"

"I'll help," Marth said. "I told you… I am your friend."

Old Hubba's smile widened. "…Well, I'll be damned! Welcome to the party, Marth."

As Old Hubba turned his back, Marth squeezed his eyes shut and choked back his disgust. Thus composed, he followed Old Hubba.

* * *

Morgan's bedroom was quiet.

"Did…" Morgan hesitantly began, breaking the silence. "Did you… kill any Einherjar?"

"Yes." Marth looked up at her; his eyes were bloodshot. "Yes, I did."

* * *

Marth pulled his rapier from Marcus's chest. The dying paladin stared up at him; his eyes carried a heavy look of betrayal.

"Lord Marth," Marcus panted. "Why…? Why…?"

Marcus's head lolled, and he began to disappear.

Marth moved to the bedroom's window and peered past the curtain. To his surprise, he saw a number of Einherjar fleeing the building—evidently Beatrice's Einherjar, given their refusal of Old Hubba's standing order of "don't leave the house."

Elation arose in him. _They might actually…_

One of the Einherjar split off from the pack.

Marth frowned. _What? No! Why? Why would they…?_

Footsteps came up the stairs, causing Marth to hurriedly close the window curtain.

Once at the top of the stairs, Titania shouted into a nearby room, "Sir, I just heard the front door! It's possible one escaped!"

 _One,_ Marth thought, chuckling to himself. He stepped out into the hall to catch the exchange.

Old Hubba seemed perplexed. "What? How'd they disobey…?" His face slowly settled into a scowl. _"Beatrice's."_ He sharply gestured in the direction of the door: "Go kill whoever it was, and guard those exits! Don't let any more of 'em escape."

Titania nodded. "Of course, sir!" She disappeared down the steps.

Old Hubba and the rest of the Einherjar whirled into action, leaving Marth alone once again.

* * *

"Well—did the others escape?" Cynthia asked. She was on the edge of her seat.

Marth put up a hand. "I'll get there, Cynthia."

"Y-You can't just leave me hanging!" Cynthia insisted. "C'mon—"

"Cynthia," Chrom said sternly; the first word he'd spoken so far. "…That's enough."

Chrom stood leaning against the door, lacking his usual regal bearing. His face was somewhat sweaty, and he favored one side; he had clearly taken some severe injury recently.

Cynthia frowned, yielding.

"Okay," Marth said. "Now…"

* * *

Morning eventually dawned following the longest night of Marth's life.

His eyes wore gray bags as he and Old Hubba sat in the office. A massive pile of unorganized cards sat on one side of Old Hubba's desk, while the other side had neat stacks of counted cards. Old Hubba plucked a card from the first stack, wrote its name down on a piece of paper, and neatly placed it atop the second stack.

 _He's making a manifest,_ Marth thought. _So he can keep track of how many Einherjar he has, and if any are missing. Which means… if they've escaped, then Beatrice's Einherjar aren't going to be a part of that list._ He had to fight a smile.

It became much easier to fight when he saw the next card Old Hubba drew. All of Marth's spirit died, because of five characters jotted down on a piece of paper:

 _Caeda._

Place on second stack.

Marth's grip tightened on the arms of his chair, and he squeezed his eyes shut, controlling his temper.

 _She couldn't get away._

 _All that time, gone. Our future, our 'forever'…_

"This can never happen again."

This was the second time Old Hubba had said those words. He was still writing, adding names to the manifest, as he spoke, and he didn't meet Marth's eye.

"This is the start," Hubba said, tapping on the manifest with his pen. "I'm gonna keep a much closer eye on the Einherjar from this point on." He added another card to the second stack. "Keep 'em organized… keep 'em close. Keep 'em useful…"

Old Hubba let that hang for a moment. He quietly continued to fill out the Einherjar manifest.

Marth waited tensely. _Sharing a room with a murderer. If he were to say the words, I could be dead in a moment._ A chill ran down his spine.

"I think Bea was right, in a way," Old Hubba mused. Take card; add to manifest; place on second stack. "All these Einherjar, just sittin' around, gatherin' dust for all of eternity? Nah, that's a waste. …Know what I'm sayin'?"

Marth didn't answer. Old Hubba sighed, disgruntled, and continued.

"I've been squanderin' all this potential." Card, manifest, stack. "Why let 'em sit around, when I could be doin' somethin' productive? Well, Marth, I've got it: the reason Fate gave me these cards. Their _true_ purpose." His eyes twinkled darkly. "Keeping an eye on my Outrealms. Keeping 'em safe."

 _"Your_ Outrealms?" Marth said at last, reflexively. Had he not felt threatened, he would have followed through with, "No one man can own them." As it was, though, he held his tongue.

"Marth." The corner of Old Hubba's mouth turned up into a wrinkled, deadly grin. "No one will ever threaten my legacy again an' live to tell the tale."

Marth frowned, uncertain of what that meant.

* * *

"I'll tell you what it meant, my friends," Marth explained. "Lord Chrom… when coming to the Outrealms, you must have heard stories of its danger, yes?"

"Yeah." Chrom shifted uncomfortably; his side continued to pain him.

"I'm _sure_ you have," Marth said dryly, nodding. "Accounts of _powerful_ warriors, _constant_ strife and combat…"

Of course Chrom had heard this before. One of the first things Anna had ever told him about the Outrealms was a warning of its danger.

"The Outrealms are a dangerous place," she had said, back in Ylisstol's hospital wing. "Crazy, crazy stuff happens out there."

"How… odd, then," Marth said, with feigned curiosity in order to prove his point, "that for _four years_ of living in the Outrealms, I never once needed to pick up a sword, even when traveling to distant worlds. How odd indeed."

The three Shepherds shared a glance.

Morgan slowly turned back to Marth. "Then… are you saying… Old Hubba is…?"

"Old Hubba is the reason that the Outrealms are so dangerous?" Cynthia finished.

"Correct. He was the original Outrealm pirate. He was the one plaguing travelers with his Einherjar warriors. He did it all in the name of protecting himself and his inheritance, and of precluding another tragedy like what befell Beatrice. I have the dubious privilege of not being one of Old Hubba's assassins; I was always his personal guard instead."

* * *

Marth stopped before the corpse Rebecca had left behind, and leaned over to inspect it.

The woman was carrying a massive backpack full of supplies. The pack had taken many arrows in the woman's stead, but Rebecca had found her mark eventually.

Marth crouched, brushing the woman's red hair aside to get a look at her face.

His eyes widened. "Old Hubba…" He stood and faced his ward. "Sir, this is an Anna!"

Old Hubba gestured at Leila to search Anna's backpack. "So?"

"Sir, you know what the Annas are," Marth warned. "They are everywhere, and they have a hand in everything. We don't want them as our enemy."

Old Hubba waved it away. "Marth, here's somethin' you gotta understand." He placed both of his hands atop his cane, and he smiled simply at Marth. The cheerful expression almost gave Marth the illusion that he was back with the old family, where everyone was happy and nobody was a murderous psychopath.

Old Hubba gestured at Rebecca. "Go kill yourself, honey. Leave your card on the porch." He then turned back to Marth. "What you gotta understand," he repeated, "is that _I_ am the threat, here. The Annas will learn, soon enough, that they can't just pass through MY home and get away with it."

"They aren't threatening us! They don't need to _die_ for it."

Old Hubba's smile disappeared. "Bea never needed to die either."

* * *

"That was always his excuse. 'Bea never needed to die.' As if that justified everything he did.

"Three more Annas died before they stopped coming."

* * *

Years. _Years. YEARS_ of pillaging, and piracy, and murder, tearing Marth apart each second without a way to even resist.

He tried. He did. Anything he could passively do to subvert Old Hubba without being noticed, he would. At first.

It soon became too difficult. Too difficult to care. After all, Marth had never made any meaningful differences, and he never would.

At night, he would dream of the War of Shadows, and wish he were there instead.

* * *

He wasn't without free time; in fact, as more and more Outrealmers caught wind of the threat of Old Hubba, Marth was more and more infrequently on the job of helping Old Hubba murder them.

Whenever he could, he took long walks through the woods. He missed fishing.

A sharp bird call caught Marth's attention. He looked around, surprised and confused; he placed his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

"Psst!"

Marth's head snapped in the direction of the voice. "Who's there?"

A blue figure stepped out of the brush, smiling. "Hello, Marth."

Marth's jaw dropped, as did his hand from the rapier. "Wha—Seliph!"

Seliph smiled.

Marth hugged him, relieved. "I can't believe it… you're alive!"

"Yes," Seliph said, as Marth pulled away from the embrace, "we all made it out. Lena, Leif, Micaiah, and I."

"What happened that night?!" Marth urged. "Why didn't Caeda make it?"

Seliph grimaced. "She split up with us… She realized they would know at least one of us had left the building, and she chose to sacrifice herself. Titania killed her, but she thought Caeda was the only escapee; the rest of us were able to disappear into the Outrealm Gate." He frowned somberly. "…I'm sorry, Marth. She didn't give us the chance to talk her out of it."

Marth shook his head. "Don't… blame yourself, Seliph. You did well." He crossed his arms. "So… why are you here?"

Seliph sighed. "Marth… All I came here to do was to let you know that we are okay. We are still your friends, and someday, I hope we are able to free you and right the wrongs Old Hubba has committed."

"That's not possible," Marth muttered. "No one… no one can clean that much blood off of our hands."

Seliph watched Marth carefully. "Marth… you are being manipulated. You can't blame yourself for everything he has made you do."

"I know what I've done. The only way I could ever forget is with my death."

"Don't say that," Seliph insisted, taking a step closer. "Marth, remember our family! Remember me; remember Lena; remember Caeda, and Florina, and Beatrice, and what Old Hubba used to be! Those are beautiful memories, Marth, and you don't want to throw those away. This can turn around. There _will_ be happiness in our future, I promise you that."

"Trust me, Seliph…" Marth murmured. "I don't wish to die."

* * *

"Seliph was ever the idealist. I appreciated that. The years became much less painful when I had visits from him and the others to look forward to."

Marth took a breath.

"Years turned into decades. Decade after decade, with no victory in sight. Eventually, these decades turned into a century: the first of many, I would despondently think. I anticipated an eternity of despair.

"In the end, however, that wasn't the case. More than a hundred disillusioning years—that's how long it took."

"For what?" Morgan asked.

"Hope." Marth smiled. "You see, my friends, this is the story of how I met my greatest ally."

* * *

 ** _Eight months ago_**

A shadow slipped in the door. "Sire."

"Hm? What is it, Leila?" Old Hubba asked, looking up at her. Not quite up at her eyes, but still.

"Someone is here," Leila said coldly. "South, just outside the woods."

Marth frowned curiously. "Why would anyone come to this Outrealm? There are enough warnings abound to avoid the mansion."

"It seems to be an Inrealmer," Leila stated.

Old Hubba brightened. "An _Inrealmer?!_ Oohoo boy, that's a rare treat!" He grunted as he eased out of his chair. "Marth, c'mon!"

Marth frowned. "…Yes, sir."

* * *

It was a young man, lying prone in the dirt. He was just coming to as Old Hubba and his posse of Einherjar approached.

The man shook his head dazedly, grasping at the dirt with his hands—when suddenly, he froze. His eyes locked onto the back of his right hand.

A slow smile dawned on the man's face.

"Hey," Old Hubba said imperiously. "Black coat. Whaddya think yer doin' here?"

The man grasped his head as he eased into a sitting position. "Urgh… I'm sorry, who are you? …Should I know you?"

"You _should,"_ Old Hubba snorted. "What's yer name, kiddo?"

The man grunted as he stood. He ran a hand through his silver hair. "M-My name is Robin."

"…Robin, huh," Old Hubba muttered. "Like the bird? Well then, Mr. Birdman, lemme make this simple. See that mansion back there? That is my home. An' right now, yer trespassin'."

"Trespassing…?" Robin shook his head. "I-I apologize. I don't even know how I got here."

"Don't matter to me," said Old Hubba. He nodded at Celica, off to his side. "Hand all yer belongings over to my associate here. Consider it a toll."

Robin's eyes narrowed. He knew what this was; this old man would enact his toll in blood.

"I don't have anything on me," Robin said truthfully. "Just the clothes on my back."

"Hm. Don't believe you." Old Hubba gestured Celica forward. "Hands up, Birdman, or yer gonna take an arrow between the eyes."

Robin sighed and placed both of his hands atop his head.

The air was quiet for a moment as Celica drew nearer.

Robin watched her as she approached. A tiny grin appeared on his face. "That's a nice tome you have there," he said.

"Hush." Celica stopped before Robin. "Take off your coat."

Robin shrugged. "Okay." He started to remove the Plegian cloak.

 _"Slowly."_

Robin paused. "Fine then. _Slowly._ "

Robin eased out of one sleeve, and then the other. He placed his hands back atop his head, still holding the cloak. "Better?"

Celica ignored him and took a step closer, looking him up and down. "If you have any weapons, tell me where they are."

"Well, I have an Arcfire tome," Robin mused.

Celica glanced up at him. "Where?"

Robin nodded at her. "In your hand."

Robin ducked and threw his cloak in Celica's face, blinding her. He swiftly lunged at her and jabbed her in the gut and throat. As she staggered backwards, he relieved her of the Arcfire tome and recovered his cloak.

Old Hubba's smirk vanished. "K-Kill him!" He turned around, gesturing at Rebecca. "He's askin' for it!"

Robin spun around, obscuring his figure under the shroud of the billowing cloak in his hand. He raised his palm, and a stream of Arcfire spouted from him as he spun like a pinwheel.

"Behind me, sir!" Marth pulled Old Hubba back and stepped in front of him protectively.

Under pressure from Old Hubba, Rebecca took a shot into the confusion, and missed. As she reached for another arrow, Robin took the opportunity to make a break for the woods.

Rebecca nocked the arrow, but just as she took aim, Robin disappeared into the foliage.

"Blast!" Old Hubba shouted angrily. "I'm _not_ about to be made a fool of by _this_ guy! After 'im!"

The other five Einherjar in Old Hubba's consort moved into the woods.

"You too, Marth," said Old Hubba. "I ain't takin' chances."

"I can't leave without you," Marth said. "You need protection."

Old Hubba frowned, biting his lip. "…Aw, hell, yer right. I'll go with ya."

Marth hesitated. "Sir—"

"That'd be an order, Marth."

Marth sighed. "Very well."

* * *

Marth and Old Hubba followed after the rest of the Einherjar. They were soon ensconced within the trees, separated from the other Einherjar, stalking through the foliage for their target.

A rumble and a flash echoed through the woods, as well as a brief cry of surprise.

"That way," Old Hubba said unhelpfully, and they chased the sound.

The pair soon reached the scene, but nothing remained but scorch marks along the trees and earth from Robin's Arcfire.

"Who is this guy?" Old Hubba muttered.

* * *

Another flash, another scream. When Marth and Old Hubba arrived, they again found nothing but signs of strife.

"There's only Arcfire marks," Marth noted. "The Einherjar haven't even been able to fight back…"

"He's a sneaky one," Old Hubba chuckled. "Gotta say… this is really rufflin' my jammies."

The two returned to the hunt.

* * *

Several minutes of silence passed by. No more combat was heard for an uncomfortably long time, when Marth slowly realized something.

Old Hubba seemed to realize it at the same time. "No cards," he said.

"No cards," Marth concurred. "He has been picking them up as he kills them."

Hubba's eyes widened. "The mansion…!"

Old Hubba broke into a surprisingly fast hobble toward the mansion. Over his shoulder, he shouted, "Cover the Outrealm Gate! Do _not_ let that piece o' garbage leave!"

Marth sighed impatiently and obeyed, dashing in the other direction.

* * *

Morgan and Cynthia were brimming with questions. Each held such a light in their eyes…

Undeterred, Marth resumed his story.

* * *

 _"Halt!"_

Robin slowed to a walk as he neared what appeared to be some kind of portal. He looked around curiously.

Marth stepped out of hiding, holding his rapier aloft.

Robin was taken aback. "Lucina…?" He stopped. "No… Who are you?"

"My name is Marth. Put that down."

Robin glanced at the sack he held over his shoulder, chock-full of cards just like those dropped by the 'people' he had ambushed in the woods. _Sure was nice of the old man to leave these on his desk._ "Mm… Sorry, Mr. Hero-King, but no."

"Hero-Ki—?" Marth shook his head, letting it go. "Sir… Robin, was it? I'm afraid I can't let you leave with those."

"Seems to me that your master is misusing these," said Robin plainly. "I can't let that happen."

Marth frowned. "Wh-Why not? Who are you, exactly?"

"I'm the man who's picked up the mantle you left broken in the dirt," Robin spat. "Sorry, 'Marth,' but if you won't be the hero, then I will."

The words struck a tender nerve. Marth's temper flared. "I have had no _choice!"_ he shouted. "You don't understand! For a _hundred years_ I've—" His mouth suddenly, forcibly closed, and he remembered an order Old Hubba had long ago given him.

"Now don't go spillin' the beans to just anyone ya meet," Hubba had said. "If I want people to know the truth, I'll tell 'em myself. Definitely don't want ya just warnin' people willy-nilly."

Marth pursed his lips. "Robin… Hand over the Einherjar. Last warning."

"No," Robin said resolutely. "I can't just do that, Marth. How many people have died? How many people have you killed?"

Marth grimaced in pain. He squeezed the hilt of his sword.

Robin hefted the bag. "I'm ending this _now._ Get out of my way, Marth."

"I cannot! Don't you see, Robin? I don't want to kill you!"

Robin smirked. "Don't worry, Marth… you won't. I didn't kill a god just to lose here."

Marth lunged at Robin, but the tactician proved faster, as he sidestepped the stab and sprayed Arcfire across Marth's feet.

Marth collapsed to all fours; his feet cried out in pain. He looked around, and grunted as he spotted his target approaching the Outrealm Gate, having already dismissed Marth.

"R-Robin," Marth slurred, as he began an agonized crawl towards his opponent.

Robin glanced over his shoulder at Marth. To his surprise, Marth managed to regain his footing.

"Robin… give me… those cards," Marth growled, stumbling on charred feet.

Robin pursed his lips sadly and faced the Hero-King.

Marth roared and stabbed at Robin; Robin countered with a burst of fire to disrupt Marth's balance. Marth sliced horizontally, and Robin narrowly ducked the attack.

Marth took a step closer, but his seared feet faltered. Robin did not press the advantage, so Marth picked himself up at his leisure.

Robin backed away from Marth as they fought, edging closer and closer to the Outrealm Gate. When his back was practically against the blue abyss, Robin took his own offensive. He sidestepped Marth's attack, caught Marth's sword arm, pressed his palm against Marth's chest, and let loose a quick burst of Arcfire.

The small explosion tossed Marth off of his feet; as he landed on his back, he felt the rapier roll out of his grip.

Murky thoughts swelled. _No… no…_ Agitation and hatred came rising to the surface. Not at Robin. Not at Old Hubba.

Marth shook his head rapidly. Against everything in him—against the loud voice in his mind telling him that he must always keep his bearing, always, always—he finally lost control.

Tears streamed down his face. He grasped at the dirt, contorting in his agony and self-loathing. "Kill me," he said hoarsely. "J-Just kill me, Robin… Let me… Let me be free…"

Robin watched him quietly. He knelt over the fallen Hero-King.

Marth closed his eyes and awaited the end.

"Do you _want_ to die?"

Marth laughed weakly. "Hahaha… Oh, Robin… I don't see what my wants have to do with anything."

Robin was quiet for a moment.

"…I'm not going to kill you."

Marth's eyes opened. He shivered with broken sobs. "Wh-What? Why?!"

Robin met Marth's eye. "Marth… I'm not going to kill you because you _are_ going to be free someday. Eventually, _when_ you break free, I want you to remember everything it took to get you there." He smiled warmly. "Marth… You are a legend. A hero. If anyone can overcome this, it's you." He placed his hand on Marth's shoulder. "I believe in you."

Marth stared up at the tactician with disbelief. "Robin…"

Robin stood and turned toward the Outrealm Gate, cards in hand.

Marth closed his eyes as he lay still, his burns and injuries stinging.

A voice suddenly came from the distance. "It's him! Marth—Marth, _do something!"_

Marth's eyes snapped open, and he saw Robin standing in the Gate. The tactician glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Old Hubba's voice.

Marth sat up, lunged for his rapier, and did the only thing he could try to do: throw it.

Robin flinched and turned towards the Outrealm Gate, swiftly entering the azure portal. Though the rapier was not a sword designed for throwing, the throw was still surprisingly accurate, and cut across Robin's arm.

The last thing Marth saw of Robin was him losing his grip on the sack of Einherjar cards, and both him and the sack heading in different directions through the Outrealm Gate.

Marth panted for air, unable to think straight. He swayed from side to side and collapsed.

* * *

"Losing to Robin was the last straw," Marth murmured. "It took _him_ to expose my weakness. Even after a hundred years of torture, I had clung dearly to life—I could never let life go, even such a horrendous existence as that one. Only Robin could finally break me, push me over the edge, to where I would finally ask for death…" He shook his head. "…And then he refused." He met each of the Shepherds' eyes. "Robin is alive, and he is wiser than I'll ever be."

Cynthia had grown a bright smile. Her eyes watered. "D-Dad…"

Morgan sniffed. Quiet tears ran down her face, and she mopped them up with her sleeve. "Dad…"

"Marth… I hate to say it, but that was eight months ago," Chrom said somberly. "I assume you haven't seen him since?"

Marth shook his head sadly.

"Then… continue your story."

Marth nodded. "It was just me and Old Hubba for a long time. We searched the Outrealms for the bag of cards Robin had dropped, but it was nowhere to be found. It wasn't until two months ago that they resurfaced… in Algol's possession. And he… was… _worse._ Actively searching for people to kill, hunting down Annas—though to my knowledge, he never killed any. Worst of all, however, was a time he ventured into the Inrealm and butchered a small town in Ylisse."

Chrom frowned. "That never happened. Must have been a different Ylisse."

Marth's eyebrows furrowed, confused. "Different…?" He shook his head. "Very well; a different Ylisse. Regardless…"

* * *

The giant mansion was virtually empty.

Old Hubba sat at his desk, his hands clasped before his mouth.

"So," Marth murmured. "That was the last of them."

The old man nodded solemnly.

"Who were they?"

Hubba dismissed the question with a wave.

"And… how did it happen again?"

Hubba sighed. "…nna…"

"Pardon, sir?"

"It was Shanna, okay?" Hubba said, throwing his hands in the air irritably.

* * *

"I wasn't there to witness the thievery of Old Hubba's last three Einherjar, so I don't know exactly how it happened. However, he insists it went like this. …Take it with a grain of salt."

* * *

The door to the mansion burst open.

"Wha—Hey!" Old Hubba exclaimed. "What are you doinnnnnng _whoa_."

Shanna strutted into the center of the chamber, wearing a floor-length ballroom dress, red lipstick and bright earrings. She brushed her blue hair over her shoulder; she had let it down for this special occasion. "Listen," she purred seductively, "I hear that bed upstairs has been preeetty cold for the last hundred years… Need someone to share it with?"

"B-But I'm _married!"_ Old Hubba stuttered, covering his mouth with his hands in horror. "I could _never_ do that to Beatrice!"

"Oh, it's no big deal," Shanna cooed. She touched Old Hubba's chin with her index finger. "She's been gone so long, I'm sure it's okay. But, for this to happen… All—I—need—" She tapped his nose to punctuate each word—"is those last three Einherjar cards. Okay?"

"Curses!" Old Hubba exclaimed. "Beatrice, I wish I could remain faithful—however, her feminine wiles are just too impossibly great! How can I combat such youthful vigor? Such excitement? Such sexiness? Alas—like the flag I laid over beautiful Bea's grave, I must now fold! Here—take them!"

Shanna accepted the three cards. "Thank you, dearest. Now… ha ha… hm hm ha ha ha… HA HA HA HA HA!" She threw her head back in malefic laughter. "You _fool!_ You truly believed one as sexy as I may ever throw herself at you in such a way?! Perhaps your stupidity explains why your mother never loved you, and reveals that Bea was always faking, and also you have asymmetric earlobes! _Fool!"_

Shanna disappeared in a burst of black fire.

Old Hubba fell to his knees. _"NOOOOOO!"_

…

* * *

Morgan's bedroom was silent.

"Well," Morgan said dryly. "That took a turn."

Marth cringed, embarrassed. "…I should have just left that whole part out."

Cynthia and Morgan agreed.

Marth cleared his throat. "It… won't happen again. …Anyway…"

* * *

Marth and Old Hubba sat quietly in the office.

Marth leaned forward, tentatively breaking the silence. "Old Hubba—"

* * *

"Wait."

Marth paused in his story. "Er, yes? What is it, Morgan?"

Morgan tapped her chin. "Shanna… Three Einherjar… 'Feminine wiles'…" She tilted her head. "Those were the Einherjar we rescued back on Talys when we first arrived. Right?"

Marth hesitated.

"Who were they?" Morgan asked. "When we were talking to Old Hubba, before we knew what Einherjar even _were_ , he called them his 'guards.' We never met them, right? What Einherjar were they?"

"How does she remember all this stuff," Chrom muttered.

"I-I'll get to that," Marth stammered. "Just—Just let me continue the story."

Morgan raised her hands defensively. "Okay, okay. Just thought I'd put that out there."

* * *

Marth leaned forward, tentatively breaking the silence. "Old Hubba… We are alone."

"Yep."

"There are no more Einherjar. There is no one to help us. …If Algol finds this mansion, we will not be able to fight back."

"I guess."

Marth sighed impatiently. "…What I'm getting at is that we have _no friends._ Everything we've done for the last century has done nothing but breed enemies. Don't you see? This is karmic justice."

Old Hubba met Marth's eye. "What're you tryin' to say?"

Marth put up a peaceful hand. "I… I am _hoping…_ that now, with everything taken from us, and nothing left to get it back… that you might… repent. You've seen everything Algol's done; he's an even bigger monster than we were! This can only be a message from Naga. Algol is our _mirror."_

Old Hubba closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Marth…"

Marth winced. He was pushing the line, he knew. Borderline disrespect.

Old Hubba's eyes opened. "…You're right. Algol _is_ a bigger monster… and this _must_ be a message."

He stood from his desk. "Marth: I'm _gonna_ get those Einherjar back, for the last time. And I'll end this."

"For the last time?" Marth asked. "What do you…?"

Old Hubba walked to the door. "Marth, I'm headin' on over to Talys. I know Shanna's there, an' I'm gonna stop her."

"What?! No!" Marth exclaimed, standing as well. "Y-You can't!"

"I can and I will," Old Hubba stated. "You stay here, son. I'll be back."

Old Hubba left.

* * *

"I don't know _what_ his plan was," Marth said. "Was he actually about to go fight Shanna's party on his own? Was he really going to throw his life away like that?" He shook his head. "…It doesn't matter, because you know what happened next. _You_ did."

* * *

"…Marth? As in THE Marth?" Chrom said skeptically.

"Wow!" Morgan exclaimed, and rushed forward to shake Marth's hand. "It's an honor, Mr. Hero-King!"

 _Mr. Hero-King,_ Marth thought, and was jarringly reminded of Robin. This girl's clothes, even…

"Th-The pleasure is all mine."

* * *

"…This isn't a decision I should make rashly," Chrom interrupted. Lucina raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I'm calling a meeting. Shepherds only. We need to discuss this first before we take action."

"I wholeheartedly agree," said Lucina.

"Me too," Morgan added.

Old Hubba sighed. "Well…" He shrugged. "Celica ain't going anywhere. Take your time."

Chrom exchanged nods with Lucina and Morgan, and they left the study.

The door slammed shut, leaving Marth and Old Hubba alone in the office.

"There you have it," Marth said simply. "They might say no. What then?"

"They won't say no," Old Hubba chuckled. "They'll realize how bad Algol is, an' they'll help us for sure."

Marth sighed. "So… you really are dead set on recovering the Einherjar, and returning to the way things used to be." _Resuming this eternal, tortuous cycle._

"Not exactly."

Marth frowned curiously, but Old Hubba did not clarify.

"Anyway, I'm gonna need ya to study that lordly guy. Chrom, was it? He seems like a pretty capable fighter."

"I suppose. …Study him how?"

"His fightin' style, of course. He seems to be one of the strongest of the lot, an' he's the leader. If you know how to fight him, then when the time comes, you can take him down real quick an' make the rest of the fight way easier."

"Fight? …Take him down?" Marth's eyes widened in shock. "You can't be serious! You want to _kill them?_ Even if they promise to help us?!"

"They've seen the mansion. They know who we are. How long 'til they learn about all we've done, huh? I don't think they'll be particularly understandin'." He placed his hands on his hips. "Marth, they've got an Anna. They're _gonna_ find out."

Marth clenched his hands into fists, trembling with rage; but he could not argue.

* * *

"You must have noticed during our fight that I had studied your technique," Marth explained to Chrom. "Did it occur to you _why?_ Did it seem out of place that I, for some reason, was not just paying attention to, but _studying_ the way you fight?"

Chrom crossed his arms. "It didn't, no. I didn't have much time to ponder it afterwards, what with the alternate Shepherds showing up."

"Alternate Shepherds…" Marth murmured. "Hmm…"

A brief pause followed.

Marth suddenly snapped out of his reverie, remembering his limited timeframe. "Right. So, you were still contemplating whether to help us or not…"

* * *

"Hey, Marth. Wanna see a magic trick?"

Marth frowned. "Sure…?"

Old Hubba grinned and produced two Einherjar cards: one in each hand. Marth squinted as he examined them.

"Two cards of me…?" he murmured. "No—that one is fake." He pointed at it.

"Easy to tell when they're right next to each other, huh?"

Old Hubba hid both cards behind his back, shuffled them where Marth couldn't see, and showed him one card. "All right: real or fake?"

Marth concentrated. "This one… it's… Hmm. I think this is the fake one… Yes, yes it is." He nodded.

Old Hubba sighed. "Okay, yeah, it's got some flaws to it, but you already know one of 'em's fake! If ya didn't know, you'd have a lot more trouble noticing."

"So I'm guessing you're going to give that fake card to Chrom," Marth said dejectedly. "And tell him he has control over me…"

"'Course, he won't _actually,"_ Hubba said. "But I need ya to follow his orders when ya can, y'hear? Long as it don't conflict with ones I've given ya."

Marth sighed. "Yes, sir."

Old Hubba stored the real card in his chest pocket.

* * *

"Soon after, you agreed to participate in the Einherjar War, and we headed out for Talys." Marth smiled. "Here's where something very special happened. You see, it was a very little thing—a miniscule thing, one that neither you nor Old Hubba realized the gravity of. This little thing was the first piece of true hope I had had in a long, long time. And this wasn't a fleeting hope, such as the setbacks Robin had inflicted; this was an actual, tangible grasp at victory. _Victory,_ Chrom! Where I could finally walk free again, as I can now!"

"All right, you've got the buildup," Morgan said. "What was it?"

Marth raised a finger. "This insignificant little detail… was the revelation that Einherjar don't have to die in order to change hands."

Marth let that sit for a moment.

Finally, he resumed. "This meant I would be able to switch sides, and be outside of Old Hubba's orders, while still retaining my memory in order to bring him to justice! All I needed was to be defeated. But, I was under strict orders from Old Hubba _not_ to surrender to you, but instead _pretend_ I was under your control.

"So: we had returned to Talys, defeated Celica's party, and spoken to Algol. After hearing what he had to say, I began to form a plan."

* * *

 _First things first. I need my card._

Marth turned around, glaring at Old Hubba.

 _The Shepherds are all around; Old Hubba won't do anything suspicious in their sight. I can get away with this._

Marth began to storm out, bumping shoulders with Old Hubba; in the same motion, he slipped the card out of Old Hubba's chest pocket. His heart thumping with fear, Marth continued marching out of the building.

As he stormed outside onto verdant Talys, Marth finally allowed himself to breathe.

* * *

No sooner had Marth alighted on the Old Hubba's Outrealm soil than he heard a soft bird call from the woods.

Marth fought with all he had to curb his enthusiasm. He soon found a chance to separate from the rest of the Shepherds.

* * *

"Marth!" Seliph whisper-shouted. "You're all right!"

Marth huddled in the bushes next to Beatrice's Einherjar, smiling at everyone. "Lena, Seliph, Micaiah… I'm so happy to see all of you. It's a good thing you're all here already, so I needn't gather you myself… Where's Leif?"

"He's been keeping tabs on Algol for the last couple of months," Seliph said. "A-Anyway—What's happening?! Micaiah, she—"

"I had a vision," Micaiah interrupted. "I saw you, Marth… dead."

"Dead?" Marth asked. He shivered with excitement. "H-How so?"

"The Falchion," Lena said. "That lord's Falchion—the one heading the Inrealmers. He stabs you, Marth!"

Marth breathed in and out; a smile dawned on his expression. "…Perfect."

"What?!" Micaiah hissed. "Did you hear me, Marth? I said you're going to _die_ soon!"

"Everyone, I have a plan," Marth said. "Micaiah, this relies on more than a little luck, so we will need your future sight as much as possible. Okay?"

Micaiah frowned. "O-Okay?"

"Now. Here it is." Marth leaned in close.

* * *

"…I'll skip the whole 'planning' part, and just cut right to the execution," Marth added.

Chrom, Cynthia, and Morgan nodded in approval.

* * *

"…Remember those key words, everyone," Marth finished. "They are 'find Seliph, and tell him of my fate.'"

Seliph, Micaiah, and Lena nodded.

"Okay." Marth took a shaky breath. "This will be close… and there is _no_ margin for error. If we fail, then Old Hubba wins. We cannot let that happen. Understand?"

* * *

 ** _Find Seliph, and tell him of my fate: Phase I_**

"…Remember this, Lucina, if I do not have the chance to say it later: find Seliph, and tell him of my fate."

Outside, Micaiah and Lena exchanged a nod and moved to the arena.

Soon, Marth left the mansion behind and headed north.

* * *

Of course, Marth couldn't _actually_ surrender to Algol, or at least not so easily; Old Hubba's orders precluded that. Just like his servitude of Chrom, Marth would only pretend.

Marth stopped in the center of the arena. "Algol!" he called out. "I have arrived!"

"Hm!"

The voice came from behind. Marth turned to face the brutish Grimleal.

Algol smirked. "The Hero-King, in the flesh," he mused. "…Defeated by the promise of a _girl."_

"Caeda is more than that to me," Marth stated. He was tempted to back away from this foul man, but he was firm in holding his ground. "She's…" He clenched his hands into fists.

 _Everything I've planned may be for the purpose of stopping Old Hubba and freeing ourselves, except for this._

Algol produced the Caeda card from his pocket.

 _This—THIS is for me._

"The Heart of Talys yet lives," Algol chuckled, waving the card. "Ya made the right choice, kid. Honestly, when I found that bag o' Einherjar way back, the first one I was hopin' to find was you. Imagine my disappointment! Heh heh… but that ends now, huh?"

"I have two demands, if I am to surrender to you," Marth said commandingly.

 _"Demands?"_ Algol laughed. "Heheh! You forget that I'm the one with the bargaining chip, boy."

Marth forced a smile. "I think you'll find these demands reasonable—to your benefit, even. Maybe even _entertaining."_

Algol raised an eyebrow. "Well, you've got my attention. Lemme hear it."

"I want Caeda's card," Marth said. "I want to carry her in my pocket."

Algol frowned. "That… ain't any of those things you said."

"No—but it's a guarantee that I'll perform my second demand." Marth took a breath. "Allow me single combat with the wielder of Falchion. I want to kill Chrom myself."

Algol blinked. Slowly, his lips curled upward into a wide smirk. "Now THAT'S what I'm talkin' about! You've got a beef with yer descendant, huh?"

Marth's smile twitched. "…You could say that."

"Well, I'm not gonna lie, that sounds like the most fun thing to watch _ever,"_ Algol said cheerfully. "Okay, okay. You can take the card."

Algol handed Caeda over.

Marth wrapped his hands around the card. A lightning sensation traveled down his spine; he looked at her painting, and suddenly he was back on Talys again.

"Thank you," Marth said, smiling genuinely.

"Before I forget," Algol said, catching Marth's attention, "I promised you a neat little present, didn't I?"

Marth blinked. "I-I suppose so."

Algol grinned widely. "Ohoho, boy. This should make it even more interesting. Canas! Bring it over."

The shaman approached, carrying a long object wrapped in cloth.

Algol took the item and offered it to Marth. He folded back a part of the wrappings, revealing gold underneath.

The sight took Marth's breath away. "Falchion…!"

"The original, too," Algol chuckled. "Found an Outrealm that practically _spawns_ legendary weaponry; I've got nearly everybody outfitted. Myself included." He gestured at Garm, slung over his back. "Of course I'd get you your sword, too."

Marth grinned and accepted the gift. _I wasn't even planning on this. Gods… this will be one good fight._

"Within the hour, Chrom will be lying in a pool of his own blood, right in the center of the arena," Marth said confidently.

* * *

So there Marth was, lying in a pool of his own blood, right in the center of the arena.

It was Lucina's Falchion, not Chrom's. Figures; Marth wasn't sure if Chrom could even beat him, and Marth couldn't just throw the fight, lest they catch on.

He wasn't pretending anymore, though. Marth was as close to death's door as he could possibly be, and it was thanks to Lucina.

Marth was defeated.

He could practically feel the pressure of Old Hubba's orders fading away: white noise.

He was free.

But now wasn't the right time to tell the truth. Not yet. Old Hubba and Chrom still needed each other, and Marth needed them working together. Algol was still the greater threat; when the time came, Marth could reveal the truth.

Marth reached into his chest pocket and produced two cards. With as much strength as he could muster, he lifted his hand, offering the gifts to the Shepherds.

"M-Marth… and Caeda," he wheezed.

The Caeda card was real. With her in Shepherd hands, she was finally safe. The thought soothed Marth.

The Marth card, however, was not. Not even two hours ago, the same card had been in Chrom's pocket: Marth had pilfered it prior to his escape.

"Tell Old Hubba… that you lost me." Marth coughed; he could feel his life draining away. A sort of panic set in—panic that he would be too late to be saved, that he was wasting too much time, that he was losing too much blood—but he still had more to say.

 _I don't want to die,_ he thought breathlessly. He closed his eyes, trying his hardest to suppress the panic. _I don't want to die…_

* * *

"Old Hubba would believe that I was lost. When Einherjar die, our cards disappear from elsewhere and re-form at the spot of our death. With the card gone from Old Hubba's pocket, the old man would assume that Chrom was telling the truth, and that I _had_ died."

Chrom frowned, remembering Old Hubba's reaction to the news of Marth's death. Gripping his chest, shocked… Chrom had thought he was giving the old man a heart attack.

* * *

Marth made up some mumbo-jumbo about "you have to wait a full day" or some such nonsense, to buy himself time, all the while preoccupied by what Brady had said:

"I don't think a staff's gonna do anything."

Marth squeezed his eyes shut. Deep breaths. Don't be alarmed. All was going according to plan. He moaned in quiet pain; the stab wound was utterly excruciating.

Lucina pursed her lips. "…Even after everything he said to you, you are still close with him."

"I've always been his favorite," Marth said. The pain was starting to numb from shock, and a sort of peaceful clairvoyance arrived in its place.

The years passed by. Not the century of suffering, but the few years that truly counted—the years that Seliph, that _Robin,_ wanted Marth to remember.

Death, almost without fail, provides one final gift to those on its doorstep. Perspective.

A tear ran down Marth's cheek. "And I… have always loved him like a father."

A smile twitched into being on his expression. _I can't die… Not today. I won't._

"Don't grieve for me… My time passed, long ago…"

 ** _Find Seliph, and tell him of my fate: Phase II_**

Marth could feel his life ebbing away. Practically inaudible, he whispered into Lucina's ear: "Remember… Find Seliph. Tell him… tell him…"

He began to black out from exsanguination.

* * *

Outside the walls of the arena, Micaiah shook Lena's shoulder. "That's close enough! Do it, quickly!"

Lena focused her energy on the Rescue staff, searching for Marth. _There._

Runes of light encircled the Hero-King, and he warped out of the arena.

* * *

Marth contorted in agony as he alighted on green earth, and he sputtered blood. His peaceful expression disappeared.

Lena grimaced. It had been far too long since she had seen a man suffer such a wound. In her experience, this had always been fatal.

"Micaiah, no staff can heal this." She faced Micaiah. "It's up to you."

Micaiah nodded, pursing her lips anxiously. She brushed her silver hair behind her ear.

Micaiah knelt over Marth and placed her hands on his chest. A blue glow began at her heart, traveled down her arm, and spread to encompass all of Marth's body.

The healing began.

Lena clutched her staff closely; terror gripped her, but for now, there was nothing she could do.

Micaiah's eyelids began to flutter as Sacrifice took its toll.

"Micaiah," Lena said, putting a hand on Micaiah's shoulder, but Micaiah brushed her off.

"I-I'm… fine." Micaiah furrowed her eyebrows as she focused.

As the silent, agonizing moment resumed, the grimace atop Marth's unconscious expression slowly faded away. Though his garb was stained red, the gaping stab wound in his chest began to mend itself shut.

Suddenly, Micaiah fell forward onto Marth, and a rush of blood came from the wound. Alarmed, Lena grasped Micaiah's shoulders. _"Micaiah!"_

Micaiah weakly blinked awake. "I… I can…"

"You must stop," Lena said softly. "You'll kill yourself _and_ him if you push yourself so. W-We can… we can do the rest without Marth if we must."

Micaiah shook her head. "So… heartless." She looked up at Lena. "Tell me… Lena. If… your friends were in danger… and you had to resort to evil to save them… would you?"

"Evil?" Lena murmured, shaking her head in confusion.

"I would," Micaiah said, chuckling faintly. "I've set my morals on the line… endangered thousands… in order to save a precious few. …I _can't_ stop, Lena… Nothing can make me stop… trying to save my friends. You are all… so precious to me."

At that, Micaiah summoned forth the will to sit up, and she resumed the Sacrifice. Lena winced, but she did not interfere.

Micaiah's strength persevered for a full minute more. Her head was spinning, and she could hardly even see, by the time the wound finally closed.

"That's enough," Lena said, pulling Micaiah away from Marth. Micaiah barely clung to consciousness, and deliriously fought against Lena's grip in an attempt to continue healing Marth.

"That's _enough!"_ Lena repeated sternly, and she tightened her grip on Micaiah. "He's going to be okay. You did it, Micaiah. You did it."

Micaiah stopped fighting. As soon as she did, all her vigor abandoned her, and she panted weakly for breath in Lena's arms. Lena slowly placed Micaiah on her back, whereupon the Silver-Haired Maiden's eyes closed.

"You did well, Micaiah. I'll take things from here."

Lena smiled slightly as she monitored her two unconscious patients.

* * *

Marth gestured at himself. "Once we woke up—and I got a change of clothes—the plan was now in full swing. It was the Jugdralis' turn now."

* * *

 ** _Find Seliph, and tell him of my fate: Phase III_**

"Prince Seliph. I have a, um… a message from Lord Marth."

Seliph frowned. Since he had left for Jungby to reunite with Leif, he hadn't heard from the others. For all he knew, Marth didn't make it. As such, he kept his tongue, and waited for Lucina to continue.

"Last night, he… died. Lost his memories, returned to his card…"

Seliph flinched. His heart beat rapidly; it was all he could do to keep his bearing in front of her.

"Before he disappeared into light, he told me: 'Find Seliph. Tell him of my fate.' …So, here I am."

 _Ahhh._ Seliph's eyes closed. Never before had his willpower come this close to yielding—a smile threatened to break through.

"That's… the whole message, short as it is," Lucina concluded uncomfortably.

"Disappeared into light…" Seliph murmured. _Light. The warping bit worked. …Whether Marth survived his wounds is another matter, but this does mean the plan can continue. If Marth died, he died far away, so no one has his card; if he didn't die, then he's under the command of whoever almost killed him, and they don't know it._

 _Everything's going according to plan._

Seliph remembered Marth's instructions: "Keep them in the dark as much as you can. Remember, we need them and Old Hubba working together for as long as safely possible."

"I'm afraid I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about, milady," Seliph lied.

He saw the hope drain out of Lucina's face. "What?" She looked down at her hands. "B-But… Marth, he said…"

Pity grew within Seliph. The way she was dressed, the Falchion on her hip… This woman idolized Marth, no doubt about it. To let her think that Marth's last words to her were meaningless…

"I'm sorry," said Seliph quietly. "I wish I had something to tell you, but…" He inclined his head. "Excuse me, milady."

Seliph started to turn away, when suddenly a thought occurred to him. _They need doubt,_ he thought. _Doubt in Old Hubba. Not enough to turn them against the old man, but enough to trust us, later. And if… if I seem in control here, like the one with secrets—which I am—then they might come to the conclusion to just let things play out, when they realize Marth's card is fake._

Seliph winked at her, and saw a drastic change in her expression.

The rest was history.

* * *

"With that, Seliph went into action. His job, as well as Leif's, was to keep a close eye on Old Hubba—obviously not _too_ close, because neither of them were on the manifest, and Old Hubba might eventually recognize them as Beatrice's Einherjar were he to catch them spying."

"Spying on him for what?" Cynthia asked.

Marth gestured around. "This. This conversation. Seliph was my pair of eyes on the inside, so that whenever he received confirmation of my survival—thanks to Lucina relaying my message—he would notify us if Old Hubba left for a long enough amount of time."

Chrom frowned. "…And… you just _knew_ Old Hubba would be gone for hours?"

"Micaiah has been the one leaving breadcrumbs for his spies to find," Marth explained. "She's very stealthy; apparently she used to sneak around the occupied capital of her homeland, and became quite adept at it. Anyway, it's thanks to her that you fought Algol's Einherjar in such a convenient order, and also thanks to her that Algol is now dead. …Although the Shepherds are owed due credit for their flawless execution."

"We _are_ pretty great," Morgan said, nodding.

"That is nearly the entire story." Marth sat forward, his expression turning grave. "But… just before I arrived here…"

* * *

 ** _A few hours ago_**

"Mm! Leila." Old Hubba smiled pleasantly. "You got news?"

Seliph peeked his head from around the corner, watching the two speak. He wore a tiny, smug smile. _They found the breadcrumbs._

"Yes, sir. It's a group of twenty-nine Einherjar, led by an 'Eldigan,' in the Tellius Outrealm. They should pose little problem to the Shepherds."

Old Hubba nodded. "Good, good! In fact, excellent! There are very few Einherjar left after that, hm?"

"None, actually," said Leila. "With Algol dead, these are the final Einherjar remaining. When they are defeated, the war is over. …Good news, yes?"

Old Hubba nodded, smiling. "Yes… Yes, that is _very_ good news, beautiful."

Leila sighed. "Sir…"

Old Hubba placed his hands atop his cane. "Sorry, dear. It's a habit. Anyway, I've got a question for ya."

"Anything, sir."

Old Hubba's eyes twinkled. "Do you remember who you were? Who the _actual_ Leila was?"

Leila hesitated. "…Yes? I recall my service to Ostia, I recall Matthew… Is there something you would like to know?"

"Yeah. My question is, didja know that you died?"

"Of… Of course. That must have been eons ago."

Old Hubba silenced her with a gesture. "No, no… I mean you died _during_ Eliwood's quest. Towards the beginnin'. Rather meaninglessly, in fact. Terrible; just a waste."

Leila shifted uncomfortably. "No. No, I did not know that."

"It's fitting, I think," Old Hubba mused. "Leila, you've only ever had the destiny of being a sacrifice, in life and out. I—and really, I truly mean this, from the bottom o' my heart—I thank you for your service, beautiful."

Old Hubba reached into his pocket, digging for a brief moment. Leila grew more and more confused, and was on the brink of voicing her concerns, when:

"Here it is." Old Hubba produced Leila's Einherjar card. He smiled pleasantly. "I wonder. Is there an Einherjar heaven? Or… are you things _really_ just machines?"

Leila didn't have time to speak a word.

Old Hubba tore the card in two.

Leila vanished. No fire, no light, no… anything. Anticlimactic really. As though she were snatched away…

Gone.

Seliph's blood chilled.

Old Hubba pocketed the remains of Leila's card, and he walked away, whistling to himself. Off to scout that Outrealm.

Seliph blinked life into his limbs. _I—I have to get Marth,_ he thought numbly. _I have to… get…_

Slowly at first, then in a panicked run, Seliph's legs carried him to the agreed-upon meeting place.

* * *

Marth took a deep breath. He began slowly.

"We are so… _so_ close…" he murmured, not meeting his audience's eye. "The plan is reaching its fruition. You've heard my story, and now you know everything. All I ask from you now is patience—patience and caution. Algol is defeated, yes, but there are still a few rogue Einherjar left. However, once those Einherjar are out of the way, Old Hubba can finally face the justice he has eluded for a hundred years."

At long last, Marth stood. He met each Shepherd—Cynthia, Morgan, Chrom—in the eye. "It seems that I am out of time. Lord Chrom… I will be back at the end. Trust in me."

With a decisive swish of his cape, Marth turned and exited Morgan's bedroom.

…

For the next eternity or so, the room was entirely silent. The three Shepherds could only ponder the massive story Marth had just laid at their feet.

The silence was finally broken with a knock on the door, startling everyone. "Morgan?" came a voice.

Morgan sighed with relief. "Oh, good. It's just Lyn." She started to stand.

Cynthia caught her arm. "Morgan! What if she's under Old Hubba's orders?!" she whisper-shouted.

"She isn't!" Morgan assured her. "She's mine. She, and Caeda, and anyone we fought at the Dragon's Gate. I hadn't handed any of them over to Hubba yet."

Cynthia frowned. "…That still leaves a lot of Einherjar working for Old Hubba, though."

"Yeah. Fifty-ish."

Morgan and Cynthia fell silent.

More knocking. "…Morgan?" Lyn repeated, with a touch more concern.

"Oh! Come in, sorry."

Lyn opened the door slightly and poked her head in. She smiled. "It's Old Hubba. He's returned, and he says he has news of the last Einherjar."

"Oh," Morgan said. Then, she realized she was supposed to be excited, so she forced a smile and clapped her hands together. "Oh, _goodie!_ That—ooh, I'm just _so_ happy about that!"

Lyn's smile wavered. "…Are you okay, Morgan?"

"'Course I am, bucko!" Morgan said, increasingly less convincing. "We'll be right down, okay?"

"Okay…"

After giving Morgan a strange look, Lyn left.

Cynthia glanced aside at Chrom. "…You're being awfully quiet."

Chrom shook his head. Wincing, he pushed away from the wall, and he limped toward the door. "I'm just mulling this over. To be honest… I don't fully buy Marth's story."

Morgan was taken aback. "What? Are you _kidding?_ You can't seriously think that he just made all of that up!" She crossed her arms. "Well then, why not? Doesn't it all make sense?"

"Yeah, I say we trust him," Cynthia added.

Chrom waved it away. "Girls—you're being distracted by what he said about Robin. I understand that you want to believe he's alive, but it's easily possible that Marth was just pushing buttons he knew would garner sympathy."

Cynthia crossed her arms, looking away. "…You sound like Laurent."

"But of course I can't rule all this out," Chrom continued. "Marth said 'patience and caution.' That's advice I _do_ intend to follow. Morgan—gather the Shepherds in the conference room. You and I will discuss this further during Old Hubba's lecture."

Morgan frowned. "S-Sure."

Chrom eased the door open and limped out of Morgan's bedroom.

Morgan exchanged a glance with her twin sister. Though brimming with trepidation, they both followed him out.

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 11 – **Rogues & Redeemers**_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _This is one of those chapters you build up to forever, and when it's finally ready, you're like "ahhhhhhh, that hit the spot."_

 _P.S._ _Hey-o,_ _did anyone bring a bottle of wine, because it's time to celebrate! As of this chapter,_ Into the Outrealms _has just surpassed my now-second-longest story,_ Miracle _, in word count!_


	11. Rogues & Redeemers

Chapter 11: **Rogues & Redeemers**

* * *

"…You're mad at me."

Cynthia brushed her hair over her ear. "What?" she whispered absently, not facing him. "No… No I'm not."

Inigo sighed. Unlike Cynthia, whose eyes (like everybody else's) were trained on Old Hubba lecturing at the front of the room, Inigo kept his attention on the young pegasus knight. In Inigo's study of Cynthia's expression, he could clearly see a harsh rage barely hiding underneath.

"Yes you are. I know you too well, Cynthia… you're upset."

Cynthia shook her head. "Well, it's not at you," she said under her breath. "Now drop it. I really can't deal with this right now."

"If it isn't me, then why are you being so curt?" Inigo asked quietly. "Is… Is it about this morning?"

"Gods, Inigo—"

"Because I'm sorry I took a chance," Inigo continued, a little defiant. "Victory tasted so sweet, I wanted to see if a sweeter taste existed. So to your lips I tried to take an adven—"

"Shut _up!"_ she hissed. "Can this _really_ not wait?" Sighing, she leaned her forearms against the conference table and resumed glaring at Old Hubba.

Inigo pursed his lips. For a moment, he simply watched Cynthia.

On an impulse, he lunged for her hand.

* * *

The _smack_ of Cynthia deflecting Inigo's advance momentarily quieted the room and drew stares, but Old Hubba soon resumed his lecture, and the event was forgotten.

Chrom glanced aside at her, watching her seethe quietly. Cynthia didn't even seem to notice when a disgruntled Inigo stood up and moved to another seat, rubbing his smarting hand; her intense, hateful stare at Old Hubba blinded her.

 _She and her sister have different ways of dealing with this situation, I suppose,_ Chrom thought, as he turned to the young tactician on his other side.

Since the moment she had sat down, Morgan violently shivered with fear and anxiety. She seemed unable to bear to look at Old Hubba, settling instead on furtive glances in between writing.

Chrom accepted a note she handed him and had to resist the urge to whistle in surprise. The quality of her handwriting was decreasing exponentially with each passed note. He glanced at her to watch her so-called 'writing' in action, to find that her unsteady hand was at fault.

"So r we gonna do sumthin bout him?" the note read.

Chrom replied, "Not yet. We still can't be sure."

"4 gods sakes, capn, pls just abbrev ur words"

"No."

Morgan sighed when she read the response.

"Fine. I believe HK. OH needs 2 face justice."

"I said we can't be sure. HK had plenty of reason to lie."

Morgan exhaled in quiet irritation.

"Like WHAT?"

"He was alive for 100+ years. People go senile in less."

"He isnt just "people.""

"That's what OH thinks."

Another irritated snort.

"Not what I meant, and dont compare me to him. He tried to kill Dad."

"Allegedly"

"Youre being infuriating. What if HK told the truth? Did you miss the part where HE TRIED TO KILL DAD?!"

"Do you WANT to believe that our benefactor for so long has been a murderer all this time?"

"Gods, Chrom. I want to believe that Dad is alive."

Chrom's eyes narrowed. _So that IS what this is about._

"So, what? Want us to arrest OH? Kill him, even? On a STORY? On the mere mention of Robin's name?"

Morgan tapped her pen against the page, taking a while to compose a response.

"I dont want to abet a killer any longer than I have to. Im not ok with working for bad guys."

Chrom sighed.

"That I can agree with. What I can't agree with is acting on mere suspicions."

"I guess youve got a point."

The conversation seemed over, so Chrom leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He caught the tail end of Old Hubba's lecture:

"…an' this last guy's name is Eldigan. Jugdrali dude. Neat, huh?"

Chrom's eyes narrowed. _It IS Eldigan…_

Old Hubba clasped his hands together. "So! Any questions?"

"Y-Yes." Morgan swallowed her fear. "Um… have you scouted the Outrealm?"

Hubba nodded jovially. "Sure have, dearie! It's a little fort on the south border of Crimea. Or, the north border of Gallia. Eh, let's go with Gallia."

"Oh man, Gallia's cool," Morgan said dejectedly. "It's all trees and beast-people…"

"I know! I've always been a fan of Tellius lore." Old Hubba winked. "Wouldn't mind talkin' about it sometime, if yer interested?"

 _Dammit, that sounds really fun,_ Morgan thought. _I wish I was still allowed to like him._ "Ahem… yeah. I was just… just wondering… uh…"

 _Uh-oh,_ Chrom thought. _She's searching for words. She's about to push our luck._

"I was wondering if you've recalled all your spies?" Morgan said nonchalantly. "You said you had people out scouting… but if this'll be the last battle, then your people must all be on their ways back, huh?"

Old Hubba hesitantly nodded. "Yeah, I s'pose."

"Thing is, I was hoping we could use some of them," Morgan continued. "It's evening now, so if we're gonna fight in a nighttime environment, it'd be handy to have people with great eyesight, like thieves. Mind if we… borrow Leila?"

Chrom winced.

"Oh… Oh, I dunno if that'll be possible," Old Hubba said slowly. "She'll take awhile ta get home… Most o' my helpers will, seems like."

Morgan shot Chrom a look.

Old Hubba brightened. "But it's not like _you_ guys need any more help! What's a few more Einherjar when we've got the mighty _Shepherds?_ Eh? Eh?" Old Hubba cleared his throat. "Well, if there's no more questions, guess y'all should head on over to the Gallia Outrealm, then, huh? Last fight! All the remainin' Einherjar! Ooh, ahh!"

The reaction from the Shepherds was mixed. The strongest responses were begrudging sighs.

Stahl looked around, utterly flabbergasted. "Seriously? Is NOBODY going to say what we're all thinking?" He faced Old Hubba. "We _just_ got back from a fight. We battled Ephraim in the Dragon's Gate _this morning,_ and no one came out of that fight unhurt. I mean, look at Chrom!"

Stahl gestured, and all eyes fell on the Exalt.

"Even _he_ got injured! Just look at him; he's pale and tired. Not sitting normally. _Clearly_ still feeling his wound from earlier. Honestly, he probably shouldn't even be up and about!"

 _Aaaand Chrom lied to me,_ Emmeryn thought, sighing.

"I concur with Stahl," said Miriel. "We have scarcely recuperated from our previous, dare I say grueling, conflict versus Ephraim. We require a bit of…"

"Of R&R," Ricken finished.

"Indeed."

Next to Emmeryn, Frederick scratched his chin. "R&R… Rest and relaxation. That sounds good to me." He turned his attention to the current Exalt. "Sire, I recommend we postpone our final confrontation with the Einherjar until tomorrow at the least. They are not going anywhere, and we are not at full fighting strength at the moment. … _You_ are not at full fighting strength, milord."

Emmeryn nodded her agreement. "Well said, Frederick. You shouldn't push yourself, Chrom…"

"Yes, yes, you all have hammered that point home," Chrom sighed. He steepled his hands as he contemplated the matter.

Tempting. Very, very tempting. The lasting injury Ephraim had buried deep in Chrom's side maintained a constant burn, and the promise of sleep—and more importantly, those delicious, delicious pain-killing vulneraries—was nothing less than a heavenly thought.

Mm…

Chrom forced himself back to reality: allowed himself to feel Ephraim's rage more sharply. This wound was temptation incarnate. "Go to sleep," it urged. "Throw caution to the wind."

Chrom took a breath. The weight of everyone's gaze rested squarely on his shoulders, and with it, the temptation. Their eyes said, "We would love you for this."

Then, his eyes met Old Hubba's.

Chrom shifted in his seat, watching the old man. With this, Chrom was in the state to ask himself the important question:

 _Do I trust him?_

Chrom cursed Marth and Marth's story. Had the Hero-King not arrived in Chrom's room two hours ago, there would be no question here. Chrom would have put it off until tomorrow, slept like a child, and awakened fresh in the morning, content in his brief R&R before facing in top form what would surely, _surely_ be the final battle.

And yet, Chrom could not blame his ancestor. If Marth _was_ telling the truth… unpleasant as it was… then whether he had told Chrom would have changed nothing. Old Hubba would still be the villain Marth claimed him to be.

Chrom glanced aside at Cynthia, and then to Morgan—perhaps for help? Both replied with equally conflicted stares.

He turned back to Old Hubba.

 _Do I trust him?_

Chrom had always considered himself an optimist. A trusting person. It was that very belief in people that birthed his friendship with Robin, even; were it not for his faith, the world might be naught but ash and blood by now.

Chrom watched Old Hubba, and, with all his heart, he wished he could answer that question with a "yes."

Chrom closed his eyes, and his heart sank. He was about to become very unpopular.

Chrom slowly pushed his chair out, and, staying strong through the pain, he stood up to properly address the room.

He breathed in… and out. Dozens of his allies watched him expectantly.

Chrom braced himself. "…We make for Gallia tonight."

The responses were predictable. Sighs, moans, groans; all loud. A muttered "For gods' sakes" interspersed, perhaps a few expletives Chrom would later chastise them for using in his presence.

"You've gotta be joking!" Lissa exclaimed, standing. "Chrom, c'mon! Why can't we just have a _little_ bit of time to relax, huh? Don't be dumb, you need the rest just as much as us!"

 _Unpopular indeed._ "I'm sorry, everyone. We're going." He raised a hand to halt further objections—"But! We _aren't_ going to fight Eldigan tonight. Rather, we're going to scout the area, get a feel for the terrain, and make camp a safe distance away. We'll wage the… final battle… in the morning anyway, as Frederick suggested."

Lissa pouted. "And we _really_ can't stay here, and sleep in actual beds?"

Chrom sighed.

"Jerk."

No one else had the required station (or gall) to vocalize their agreement with the princess, but Chrom could see the echoed sentiments in his Shepherds' eyes.

Chrom let their discontent fester for a moment. He leaned against the table, staring down.

Finally, he commanded over the mutterings, "That's enough." The room fell silent. "Shepherds, get ready to sortie."

Ylisse's finest unenthusiastically got to work.

* * *

Chrom caught many a sharp glance from his allies as they relocated from their comfortable beds and gathered tents for tonight's little camping trip.

"Don't mind them, Captain," Morgan said under her breath. "They'll understand sooner or later."

"I know," Chrom sighed. "We can't spend another night sharing a roof with a mur—with a _potential_ murderer."

Morgan caught his slip of the tongue. "So you _do_ buy Marth's story, then?"

"No… Well, I'm not sure. But I did say 'patience and caution,' and I'm not going to risk anything by spending another night here."

"We should tell everyone the 'why,' then. They'll get where you're coming from."

"I don't think so. If we tell them, and we're _wrong,_ then everyone will distrust the old man when we shouldn't. No, this should stay between only a few of us for now."

"A few…" Morgan scratched her chin. "Okay, I can agree with that."

"Heh. You better; this isn't a democracy."

"Guess not. But hey, at least I'm sittin' pretty with our lord and dictator, huh?" Morgan shot Chrom a wink. _"Cutie."_

Chrom turned beet-red. "S-Seriously? Is there _no_ situation too serious for you to tell a joke?"

Morgan's smile disappeared. "Who said I'm joking?"

"Wh… Wait, _what?!"_

But a tiny grin emerged from Morgan's expression, and Chrom looked away, huffing irately. _Oh, good. Another layer to her sense of humor. How far is she going to take this joke? …W-Will she ACTUALLY start flirting at some point? I don't even want to know how Maribelle would react._

"Gods, Morgan, have some boundaries," Chrom muttered. "Anyway, go pack or something. I have to gather the others."

Morgan saluted. "Yessir."

When Morgan left, Chrom took an impatient breath. _I bet these errands are gonna be fun…_

* * *

"What? _Really?_ I can go with you? Psh." Severa stood from her bed. "Wow, that was easy. I didn't even have to apologize."

"You're not off the hook," Chrom said sternly. "I don't condone violence on our allies; it's not what the Shepherds are. Your punishment will come later."

"I was wondering if that was _ever_ gonna happen," Severa snarked. "All things considered, house arrest is a pretty cozy prison." She crossed her arms. "Though having nothing to do is pretty lame…"

Chrom shrugged. "If you'd like a worse punishment, I'd be happy to give it to you. Anyway, you're missing the point: you're still not fighting, you're just tagging along."

"Oh, so I guess you'd be fine with me leaving my armor here?" Severa's smirk indicated that she already knew Chrom's answer.

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "Bring it. Just in case."

"Whatever." Severa moved to collect her clothes, while Chrom started to leave.

Chrom lingered in the doorway. "Oh… and you'll be sharing a tent with your mother." He smiled coldly. "Report to the Outrealm Gate in ten minutes."

Severa scowled.

Chrom left, feeling a modicum of petty satisfaction.

* * *

Aaaand the satisfaction was gone.

"No! Absolutely not, milord. I couldn't possibly allow it."

"My hands are tied, Say'ri. The Manaketes can't stay here, and that includes _her."_

Say'ri pointed sharply at Tiki, who sat cross-legged atop her bed. "Need I remind you what transpired the _last_ time Tiki passed through the ancient portal?"

"No, you… needn't," Chrom said, frowning. "But we really do have no choice. It's…" Chrom glanced over his shoulder, and lowered his voice. "It's not safe here."

Tiki frowned. "Say'ri, if we must go, then there is nothing to be done. I will weather the strain, just like I've done before."

Nah and Nowi exchanged a concerned glance. "We'll go, too," said Nowi slowly. "I mean… sure, going through the Gate sucks, but if we've got to, then what's the sense in complaining?"

"That's the sort of reasonable answer I needed," Chrom said, smiling in relief. "Go ahead and—"

But Say'ri stepped in front of Chrom, still wearing a defiant glare. "Sire, forgive me, but I must put my foot down. Do what you will with Ladies Nah and Nowi, but Lady Tiki is _my_ ward. I cannot allow her to go through such pain again. I will…" She cast her eyes aside. "I will do what I must to protect her. That _includes_ protection from you."

"Say'ri, did you not hear what I just said? It isn't safe here!"

"Then I will safeguard her myself," Say'ri challenged. "I have been remiss in my duty of late. Fie, I allowed Tiki's condition to remain a secret from you for nearly two days, when we could potentially have acquired aid! I cannot continue to go against Lady Tiki's best interests, even _if_ it means I must disobey an order… from you, or her." Say'ri planted herself between Chrom and Tiki. "Apologies, milord. But I must refuse."

Chrom grimaced. "Say'ri… You cannot protect her all on your own. Not from the dangers here."

Tiki cleared her throat. "I don't… _exactly_ know what is going on," she began, "but, Say'ri, I trust Chrom. If this mansion is no longer safe, then which would be more certain: the Outrealm Sickness inflicted by following Chrom, or the death Chrom promises will come if we stay? Say'ri, you know how much I appreciate your service, your loyalty… I could not ask for a better guardian. But think: which is the lesser risk?"

"There's no winning solution here," Nah said somberly. "The only way we Manaketes could have won was by never entering the Outrealms in the first place."

Nowi and Tiki nodded in grim agreement.

Say'ri clenched her teeth. "Lady Tiki… I cannot allow you to suffer such agony. I cannot."

"Oh, Say'ri… It'll be alright." Tiki smiled. "I know I'll still be okay, because I'll have you to take care of me, like I always do. Right?"

Say'ri hesitated, conflicted. "I… Yes… Of course, Lady Tiki. I'll always…" She trailed off.

Chrom looked around the room. Some sort of vague consensus seemed to have been reached. "…Good," he said. "Let's get going, then. The others should be waiting."

* * *

"Ah, man. This was so dumb."

As he had done many times before, Chrom forced down the inexplicable, primal fear that the Outrealm Gate inspired in him without fail. The Gate always stared back, coldly.

Chrom worked up his nerve. "Bad idea. Gods, what was I thinking? Three times in one day? I should be slowing down how much I use this damn thing, not picking up the pace!"

Morgan frowned. "Sorry, Captain. But there's really no other choice; you know that."

"Yeah, I do…" Chrom took a breath. "Okay. Here we go."

* * *

 _"Gah!"_ Chrom fell to a knee, wincing at the sharp pain. He felt warm liquid spreading across the side of his shirt. _Great! Now I get to have these gods-damn stitches done for the THIRD time._

"Chrom, you alright?"

Chrom waved away Sully's concern. "I'm… fine. Get me Maribelle."

"Sure thing."

Chrom clutched his side as he slowly rose to his feet, flinching at the sharp reminders accompanying each movement.

He stood lopsided, favoring the uninjured hip, as he watched his Shepherds exit the portal. He soured; they all made it look so easy.

Well, until Nah. The moment she exited the portal, her eyes rolled back and she crumpled like so much paper. Morgan was quick to catch her.

Likewise, Libra was there to halt Nowi's face-forward collapse. Nowi's eyelids fluttered, and she murmured incomprehensible words to herself as Libra carried her away.

Then, in stepped Say'ri. Maribelle came soon after, led by Sully, and Say'ri stepped aside to allow them passage. Say'ri then waited patiently by the Gate, wearing a concerned grimace.

At last, out of the Gate came Naga's Voice herself—Tiki. Tiki did not follow precedent by immediately falling unconscious, no; rather, she fell to all fours, loudly dry-heaving into the dirt. Say'ri knelt by her, rubbing the Manakete's back.

Maribelle approached Chrom, frowning. "You pulled your stitches again, dear?"

"Yeah. You know me; I just _hate_ 'em."

Maribelle laughed. "I suppose that must be the 'only' reasonable explanation for why you so often lose them. Anyway, Lucina and Brady should have completed our tent by now; let me repair your injury there."

"Sounds good."

As Maribelle led Chrom away, he glanced over his shoulder at Tiki, concerned. The Manakete was no longer strong enough to even hold herself up on all fours. Tiki coughed repeatedly, and in between heaves, she moaned quietly. She eventually succeeded in vomiting blood.

Several healers crowded around the semiconscious Manakete. The last glimpse Chrom caught was of Say'ri shooting him a hateful glare.

* * *

The tent was momentarily quiet. Chrom sat shirtless in a chair while Maribelle tended to his red-stained hip. Chrom glanced down at the wound; there was a little more scar tissue than the last he had seen of it, but he suspected this would plague him for longer than the few days Emmeryn had promised.

Lucina and Brady sat in different chairs, pointedly looking away. Brady seemed a little irritated—even more so than his usual expression.

Chrom knew why they were both so quiet. They didn't approve of Chrom's decision, either. He sighed. To be expected.

So he broke the silence. "You know how you run into people at the weirdest times?" He tried for a casual tone, break the ice. "Like, you're just walking around town, and boom, you run into someone you knew from years ago?"

Lucina blinked. "I-I suppose?"

"Well, I had a little encounter with an old acquaintance today," Chrom said. "Marth."

A beat passed. Maribelle's handiwork paused.

"Marth?" Lucina asked; her knuckles were clenched white. "As in—as in _our_ Marth?!"

"Same one. Had his memories and everything."

"Bull," Brady stated irritably.

"I'm telling the truth, I'm afraid. Marth showed up a few hours ago and explained everything to me, Morgan, and Cynthia. I think you all should know, too. Now…" Chrom chose his words carefully. "I… want you to know, before I tell the whole story, that I have my doubts in it. It's possible that…" He trailed off. _No, I should leave it at that. They can form their own opinions._ "…Never mind. This is a long story, by the way, so Maribelle, if you could continue on the stitches…?"

"Oh! Certainly, dear."

Chrom sighed. "Okay. So, Marth's story started over a hundred years ago, when he first woke up from his card…"

* * *

The emotional journey repeated itself before Chrom's family. Gasps, shock, horror, tears… and that was just Brady.

"Old Hubba… is a villain… Marth is alive… and so is Robin." Lucina was standing, her hands limp in surprise. "Father… this story is unbelievable."

"I'm just relaying what Marth told me," Chrom cautioned. "I'm not certain if it's entirely true."

"But it must be," said Maribelle, who had finished Chrom's stitches partway through the story. "It all fits together."

"Gotta be honest, Pa…" Brady dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. "…I don't see what's hard ta believe about this. It's an awful truth, sure, but it makes too much sense ta be a lie."

Chrom's temper flared. "I'm not going to _immediately_ believe that _Old Hubba,_ of all people, is our enemy!" he exclaimed. "It's—ridiculous! Not to mention that he has been our ally all this time. You all seem so eager to toss that out the window!"

"Validar was our ally, once," Maribelle murmured. "We accepted his aid during the Valmese War."

"That was different," Chrom spat. "We all distrusted him from the get-go. We took his help because we _had_ to."

"Regardless, we cannot ignore this," Lucina said determinedly. "We must return to the mansion at once."

"Not an option. The Einherjar need to be contained, regardless of what Old Hubba is." Chrom crossed his arms. "Right now, everyone is safely out of the mansion. When we've dealt with Eldigan, we can figure out our next move."

Lucina sighed, finally understanding Chrom's decision. She took her chair, defeated.

The tent flap rustled, and a mess of brown hair poked through. "Um—Chrom?"

Chrom frowned. "Morgan?" He slowly adjusted in his chair to face her, careful not to mess with his fresh stitches. "What's the matter?"

Morgan took a step inside, staring down at her feet. She hugged a bundle of papers to her chest. "Um… I was just wondering if… you still wanted to look over that after-action report?" She glanced up at Chrom hopefully.

Chrom laughed. "Morgan, by this point, that really doesn't matter. Get some rest."

Morgan didn't budge. She wiggled on her toes nervously, and didn't meet his eye. "I mean… I… there's some important stuff on it, and Katarina didn't have too much to offer in… um… tactics… and strategy, you know…?"

Chrom frowned, watching her. _She's shaken. Marth's story… it really got to her._ "…Okay, Morgan. It seems pretty important."

Morgan lit up. "Uh—G-Great! Thanks, Captain. We've got _lots_ to talk about."

"Heh, all right, Morgan," Chrom chuckled. "So long as you let me get _some_ sleep tonight."

The tent paused. Brady facepalmed, and Maribelle couldn't resist a tiny smirk.

Chrom suddenly glowed bright red as he realized his error.

Morgan shook her head. "Dude… you're walking _right_ into these."

"Walking into what?" Lucina asked, looking around. "I don't get it."

* * *

Chrom's eyes shot open, and he quickly sat up, intending to leap to his feet and investigate the commotion outside.

He was delayed, however, by a searing pain shooting down his hip, forcibly reminding him of yesterday morning.

 _Or was it still today?_ Chrom thought hazily. He slowly picked himself up. _It's still dark out… How much sleep did I get?_

Another jolt of pain as he stood.

 _Well… I'm awake now._

Maribelle was already dressed and reaching for a healing staff.

"Captain: here." Apparently Morgan was there, too. She wiped some drool off of her chin as she handed a vulnerary to Chrom. "Before you ask, your desk is _not_ very comfy. I'm not gonna make a habit of sharing a tent with you."

"Now's not the time, Morgan!" Chrom hastily applied the painkilling salve to his wound as he made for the tent flap. "What's happening?"

Chrom pushed his way out of the tent. Though the clamor around him demanded his attention, he was instead distracted by the light overhead.

A ball of Fire hung in the air, slowly fizzling away as it drifted on the breeze. It had been launched as a flare, apparently; even now, much of the camp glowed a pale red from this artificial sun.

 _Was this one of ours?_ Chrom thought. _Is this flare a warning, launched by a Shepherd… or is it a call to arms, launched by our enemy?_

Chrom grabbed a nearby Shepherd. "Gaius! What's going on?"

"It's them, bud," Gaius said grimly. "They found us."

Gaius hurried away, leaving behind a sleep-addled Chrom trying to puzzle out this turn of events. "The Einherjar…? How did they find us? Did they catch our scouts? Or did they stumble upon our camp by luck…?"

 _"Chrom!"_

Chrom faced the urgent cry. "C-Cordelia? What's the matter?"

Cordelia alighted nearby and dismounted from her pegasus. She grimaced. "Milord, it's the enemy leader… Eldigan. He wishes to speak with you."

Chrom threw his hands up, frustrated. "Can I get a status report, at least?"

"Of course. My apologies." Cordelia gestured around the faintly-glowing camp. "At approximately zero-five-thirty-five hours, a flare was launched from the center of camp. Within a matter of minutes, the Einherjar had the entire encampment completely surrounded."

"Completely surr—?" Chrom shook his head. "Wait, _center of camp?_ How did they sneak in?"

Cordelia flinched. "I led the night watch, sir. I have only myself to blame, and will accept any punishment you deem—"

Chrom waved it away. "Later!" He faced Morgan. "Now what?"

Morgan looked around nervously. "I-I-I need time," she stuttered. "I need… numbers, a headcount, time to plan our formation…"

"Get ahold of yourself, Morgan! We don't _have_ any time, and I need your tactical expertise!"

"Expertise? I-I'm just… I'm an amateur! I haven't lead a real battle _yet!_ I'm not—I'm not—"

Chrom growled angrily. "This is no time for a meltdown! Morgan, go find Nah, and get in the right state of mind! You _are_ leading this today, whether you like it or not!"

Morgan recoiled in fear. On wobbling legs, she turned and ran.

"Milord," Cordelia repeated, retaking Chrom's attention. "Eldigan."

Chrom blinked. "Right… He wanted to speak." He ran a hand through his hair and glanced over his shoulder at the direction Morgan had fled. That _was_ in the vague direction of Nah's tent, so it seemed that she had understood his order. _Was I too harsh? …No, of course I wasn't._ He turned back to Cordelia. "Very well. Take me to him."

"Of course, milord."

* * *

Eldigan's black horse slowly trotted forward. The regal man was composed and serious, and he politely dismounted to greet Chrom.

Chrom gestured for Cordelia to back away, and he stepped forward to welcome the newcomer. He briefly adjusted the straps on his shoulder pauldron, hastily thrown on as he had (metaphorically) leapt out of bed.

"What is your name, sir?" Eldigan asked.

"I am Chrom," he answered. "Exalt of Ylisse, and leader of the Shepherds."

"I see." Eldigan placed a hand on his chest. "My name is Eldigan, King of Nordion, the most ancient and proud province of Agustria. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, Sir Eldigan." Chrom would normally have offered a hand to shake, but he deemed the action inappropriate here. "Your Highness… would you mind if I asked you a question?"

Eldigan frowned, but nodded his approval.

Chrom adjusted to ease weight off of his wound. "How would you feel about surrendering?"

Eldigan raised an eyebrow. "…Pardon?"

Chrom put up a hand. "Now, I know that's a pretty odd request. You definitely have the advantage here, what with all your soldiers using the woods as cover. We're pretty well surrounded."

"Then why ask the question, if you know my answer?"

"Because there is much that you don't understand," said Chrom. "I need you to hear me out."

A little smirk appeared on Eldigan's face, and he crossed his arms. "Haha! Very well, you have my ear, Sir Chrom."

"We are not your enemy," Chrom insisted. "Your true enemy was Algol; he had been manipulating you for months, bending you to his whim without you even knowing it. However, Algol is now dead; we killed him yest…" _Yesterday? Wait, was it today? …Oh yeah, Cordelia said that it's morning now._ "—Yesterday. With him dead, there's no reason for you to fight anymore."

"How am I to believe that you are telling the truth? Perhaps _you_ are the manipulator."

Chrom chuckled. "I guess you raise something of a good point. But, Eldigan, I am a very trusting man. I have faith that you can find it in your heart to discern the truth: do you truly believe that I am deceiving you? Remember, you are the one who came here for a fight, not the other way around."

Eldigan's expression flickered. "Th-This… Algol. This man was our leader."

"Was, but no more. You are no longer under his scheming thumb. You have the freedom to take a side, Eldigan; which one do you choose?"

Eldigan paused silently for a long moment. He cast his eyes aside, frowning thoughtfully.

The crimson flare in the sky finally faded away, and the camp returned to darkness.

"Exalt Chrom… You raise a convincing argument."

A glint of morning sun shone through the trees. Eldigan's hair was revealed as a bright gold.

Eldigan chuckled. "Ah… And of course your hair is blue. You are so like him…"

Chrom frowned.

Eldigan's smile very gradually withered. "However… I cannot give up so easily. I…" He grimaced. "I would be throwing away my pride… vanquished, by words? And words I could simply choose not to believe…"

Chrom's heart fell. "So… you do not surrender?"

Eldigan bit his tongue, and continued to think for a moment.

"Your Highness…" Eldigan tested out the words, searching his feelings. "I… I can think of only one way to resolve this."

Eldigan gestured over his shoulder, and a young blue-haired squire came forth to guide Eldigan's steed away.

Eldigan's expression drew a hard determination. "If your words are true, then your blade shall be truer. I challenge you to single combat. The stakes: our surrender, or yours."

Chrom paled.

* * *

 ** _Last night_**

Morgan's pen hesitated over the parchment. "Captain…"

Chrom peered over her shoulder at the troop positions Morgan had laid out so far. "What's the matter?"

Morgan bit her lip. "I know, we've had this argument already, but I've really gotta insist this time." She met his eye. "If it comes to a fight with the Einherjar tomorrow, please sit it out."

Chrom's hand absently rested on his hip. "Morgan… I really couldn't agree more. I'll let the others handle it; they've proven themselves time and time again. They can handle this _one_ fight without me." He raised a finger. "But! Soon as I'm able, I'll be back in action for good, okay?"

"Heheh! Fine, fine." Morgan let out a relieved sigh. "You just made this a whole lot easier on me, Captain."

"Heh. Easier on myself, too."

* * *

 ** _Now_**

"Single combat," Chrom echoed. "Just you… and me."

"Of course." Eldigan's hand rested on his sheathed sword.

Chrom breathed in. _Oh, boy._ He exhaled. "And if I refuse?"

"Then we attack," Eldigan stated plainly.

Chrom analyzed his surroundings. Plenty of woods… dozens of tents… twenty-nine Einherjar, forty-six Shepherds. _Gah, forty-three; no Manaketes,_ he thought, kicking himself. _But then again, I don't know how many Einherjar we have on our side… and I guess I could add Severa to make it forty-four…_

He collected his thoughts again. _This is a fight we could win, almost certainly. We've had close shaves before… but…_

There were whispers of movement in the dark woods: rustlings from the unseen fighters within.

 _Nearly thirty hidden warriors, attacking from the shadows on all sides. Could we win? Yes. But would everyone make it…? The odds of losing a Shepherd are horrendously unfavorable._

 _That's not a chance I'm willing to take._

"Okay, Eldigan… You have my attention. What happens if I lose, and we surrender?"

Eldigan hesitated. "My orders… are to kill trespassers. If you surrender, then there is no guarantee that I could keep your people alive. And this is a duel to the death, Chrom; your loss _ensures_ your own death."

Chrom sighed. _So… CERTAIN death if I lose, PROBABLE death if I refuse. Winning the duel is the only safe option._

Chrom adjusted his stance, and winced as his hip helpfully reminded him that it existed. "Is there… _any_ chance that I could substitute?"

"Are you not a knight?" Eldigan challenged. "That gilded sword astride your hip tells otherwise."

A voice erupted from the crowd at Chrom's back: "Allow me, then!" Lucina stepped forward. "I will duel you, Eldigan, in my father's stead!"

"You would pass off your duty to a descendant, then?" Eldigan spat. "This duel is meant to test your word, Sir Chrom. Do you mean to tell me that hers is stronger than yours?"

Chrom's pride flared. "Were I in top form, this conversation would not have happened. I would've already proved just how strong my word is."

"Ahaha! Excuses, now? Lovely." Eldigan turned away. "Very well then, Chrom. You've shown your true colors. Prepare yourselves."

Chrom kicked himself. _Why would I mention the injury? Idiot!_ "Hold it, Eldigan! I accept your challenge. I'll defeat you regardless."

Eldigan paused, and glanced over his shoulder at the Exalt. "…Very well. Our duel will settle this." He gestured, and the same blue-haired squire ran over, assisting Eldigan in removing his excess armor.

Chrom, likewise, returned to his Shepherds. Though the others watched him anxiously, only Lucina and Maribelle approached him; Maribelle immediately went to work tightening and correcting the many pieces of armor and clothing Chrom had haphazardly equipped as he had stumbled awake.

"Father, this is a terrible idea," Lucina hissed. "Do you know that weapon he wields?"

Chrom furrowed his eyebrows as he watched Maribelle's handiwork. "No…"

"I do," she continued irately. "I have a certain cousin who has gushed over its invincibility for years. Eldigan wields the Mystletainn, Father—and it is likely the _original_ Mystletainn, containing all the power it has lost over the millennia. Eldigan the Lionheart was nigh unstoppable in his time."

"That was a long time ago."

"Dammit, Father!" Lucina snapped.

She rarely swore in front of Chrom; surprised, he faced her, to find frustrated tears in her eyes.

"Even if you were in top form, this man would be one of the toughest battles you've yet fought! You—You cannot possibly stand a chance with such an injury. You will _die,_ Father!" She grasped his arm tightly, ensuring she had his attention. "Listen to me, Father! _You will die!_ I refuse to let that happen again!"

"Lucina… I'm not going to die." He placed his hand on hers, gently removing her grip on him.

"I've gotta agree with Lucy here, Captain."

Lucina and Chrom faced Morgan as she approached.

"You're back," Chrom said proudly. "Glad to see you've calmed down."

"Y-Yeah, well… enjoy it while it lasts," she said, laughing shakily. "Anyway: Chrom, I heard all of it. You really don't need to do this. We can take them in a fight."

"I know, and I know we can win, too. But I'm not going to risk losing anyone. With the tree cover they've got, there are just too many avenues for them to attack from."

Morgan bit her thumbnail. She had considered that, herself; statistically, she predicted upwards of a ninety percent chance of losing a Shepherd. And while she would love to gamble on a 10% chance of something awesome happening, now was not the appropriate time.

…If Chrom had not also considered that likelihood, she would have kept it from him. "Sure, we've got this!" she would've said. And she would have lain in bed that night, unable to sleep for knowing that that life lost, or those lives lost, could have been prevented. She'd had enough sleepless nights lately…

But still, allowing Chrom this duel seemed an equal gamble. And if Chrom lost, so did the rest of the Shepherds—unless they decided to resort to less-than-honorable deeds, which Morgan _definitely_ would do if Chrom lost.

Still… Chrom losing meant losing Chrom.

She couldn't voice any of this. Most of it was too horrible to say.

So Morgan looked Chrom in the eye. She placed her hands on both of his cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes as she forced Chrom to meet her gaze.

Chrom's eyes widened. _What is happening. For the love of Naga, please don't give me a good-luck kiss._

"Chrom, this is a terrible idea," Morgan said. "I think it's really, really risky what you're doing. But… there is no good solution here. The only way we could've won…" She averted her gaze. "…would have been by never entering the Outrealms in the first place." She met his eye again. "Your decision is crazy, and is likely to end in failure as not. But it's the right choice. You're doing the right thing."

Lucina tensed.

"Remember, Chrom," Morgan said. Her voice carried a serious weight to it, such that Chrom had never heard from her. "Eldigan is playing for keeps. You can't hold back anymore, or you'll get a lot worse than what Ephraim did to you." She took a breath; her face was so close that Chrom could feel the warm exhalation. "Chrom, you have to kill Eldigan."

Chrom's lips parted in surprise. Then, his expression hardened. "…You're right, Morgan. I won't hold back."

Morgan broke into a feeble half-smile. Her hands on his face began to tremble. "Okay. C-Captain… Good luck."

And then, just as he predicted, she planted a tiny, platonic peck on his forehead before hastily retreating back to the crowd.

Chrom shook his head, grinning. _Of course she'd end with that._

Maribelle stood up from lacing Chrom's boots. "I hope you know that I don't approve," she said softly.

"Oh, I definitely know."

"Of course. I'll save my harsh words for after your victory." Maribelle forced a smile. "Best of luck, love… We all fight at your back."

"I can feel your strength." Chrom accepted a brief kiss from his wife.

Maribelle left, leaving Chrom and Lucina to stare down.

"Father…" Lucina began hesitantly. A hundred more arguments crossed her mind; a hundred more ideas smarter than this one, certainly! …But she swallowed her concerns, and she offered a hand for her father to shake. "…Good luck."

Chrom accepted the handshake. "Lucina… I will come back. This is not your future; I always come back, I promise."

A tear ran down Lucina's cheek. "Father…"

Chrom cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing away the tear with his thumb. Lucina was suddenly, forcibly reminded of a similar scene from over a year ago. Chrom inviting her in, her hugging him tightly…

 _"You deserved better from me than one sword and a world full of troubles."_

Lucina suddenly backed away. Chrom dropped his hand, surprised.

Lucina panted. "No… No, this… this is not goodbye," she murmured breathlessly. "There's no need for tears…" She forced a smile. "Because, Father, you are going to win. I believe in you."

Lucina turned and marched away.

Warmth welled within Chrom, as he stood on his own—but not alone. "You're right," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "I can feel it, Lucina… I feel your belief. I feel everyone's belief…"

He turned around to face the Lionheart Eldigan. Eldigan strode closer, dropping his black sword's sheath into the dirt.

Chrom unhooked Falchion from his hip and extracted the golden blade from its cage. He tossed the covering aside.

Fire Emblem and Falchion in hand, Chrom faced his opponent. Eldigan readied his legendary weapon.

"My allies' convictions are as true as mine," Chrom declared. "I carry their strength as my own. Eldigan… you will soon bear the brunt of it."

Eldigan twirled Mystletainn. "If you can live up to those words, then you will have earned that victory. En garde!"

* * *

The clashing of two legendary swords resounded loudly through the Shepherds' camp. Though many of the Shepherds were elsewhere, preparing for a hypothetical engagement with the enemy, a sizable crowd remained to spectate.

Eldigan swatted Falchion aside and twisted his sword at Chrom's head. Morgan bit down on her knuckle unconsciously—but thankfully, Chrom dodged. Morgan took her hand away from her mouth before she could draw blood.

"He is doing rather well."

Morgan glanced aside, acknowledging the unmistakably deep voice. "Hey, Priam."

Priam nodded at her respectfully, though his eyes did not leave the fight before them.

Chrom deflected the Mystletainn off of his shield, and he shoved his elbow into Eldigan's gut. Eldigan responded with a punch to Chrom's jaw. Chrom snarled, and their swords met once again.

"I have a question, Priam," Morgan said under her breath.

"Ask away, tactician."

"Why didn't he lead with Aether?" she asked. "I know Chrom. He's practiced that skill to hell and back; he knows all kinds of ways to set his opponent up for it. Why wouldn't he try to end this fight as quickly as possible?"

Priam scoffed. "You know little of Aether, small one. Allow me to educate you." He crossed his arms. "Aether is no… no instant-win button. It is a powerful technique, yes; it does have the _potential_ to turn the tide of a fight. However, it will not win your battles for you." He gestured at the two warriors locked in combat. "Watch them for a moment, and tell me what you see."

Morgan squinted closely, studying their technique. Ah! There… Falchion's edge glowed orange, and Eldigan parried the strike; it then gained an azure hue, and Eldigan sidestepped.

"He's been using Aether all along," Morgan breathed.

"Indeed," Priam noted. "He _did_ lead with Aether, young lass. It was not enough. In his state, he is no match for the Lionheart; his constant use of Aether is all that keeps him afloat in this battle."

"So we're screwed." Morgan was pale. "He can't win, then."

"Perhaps."

Morgan stared down at her hands. She could still see bite marks on her knuckles. "Then I have to do something… I need to start preparing a way to save him."

Priam glanced aside at her. "Do you mean to interrupt their fight?"

"If I have to."

Priam's eyes narrowed. "How dishonest."

"Sorry, Priam, but I'm not like you," Morgan said aggressively. "I'm a tactician, not a warrior. I play to win. And if that means I have to be dishonest? Who cares! Everybody lives. _Chrom_ lives. If he dies, then the whole point of coming to the Outrealms is moot."

Priam watched her quietly, thoughtful. A smile grew. "…I see. I suppose I've never thought of it that way." He turned back to Chrom. "However… I think you are counting our leader out too early. He has some fire left in him."

Morgan grimaced. Her mind told her that she needed to get moving, but her feet were planted, and she was unable to look away. She unconsciously returned to biting her knuckle.

Chrom bore the brunt of the Mystletainn on the Fire Emblem, and he shoved forward. His sword acquired an orange tint.

Priam leaned over to Morgan. "Chrom needs to fight more cautiously. If he continues to set up the technique the way he has been, then Eldigan will catch on, and will exploit this to claim victory."

Priam the soothsayer. Chrom readied Falchion for another bout of Aether, but Eldigan immediately challenged the setup and drove his knee into Chrom's wounded hip.

A spray of blood; Chrom cried out in agony and fell to a knee.

Eldigan twirled his sword, ready for the kill.

Morgan's breath vanished. She began to reach for the tome underneath her robes.

* * *

 ** _A few minutes earlier_**

"En garde!"

Chrom grimaced. _I'm short on time. My hip is numb for now, but it won't be long before the vulnerary wears off… and when it does, I'm a cripple again._

He squeezed Falchion's hilt with both hands. _I have to end this quickly. I can't hold back._

Aether ran through his blade. Chrom took the fight to Eldigan, closing the gap quickly.

 _Sol!_ He brought his orange weapon onto Eldigan. Eldigan parried the blow.

 _Luna!_ The blue sword honed in on Eldigan's midsection.

Eldigan's eyes narrowed. _Is that—?_

The Lionheart's eyes widened in realization, and he sidestepped the attack just in time. _Luna,_ he thought. _The Isaachian sword skill… There is more to this man than I thought._

Chrom growled in frustration. _Well, there goes that plan. Crappy luck._

Now Eldigan had forced a normal fight, and Chrom had already shown his hand. Eldigan would be wary of Aether from now on.

Falchion and Mystletainn struck again and again. Chrom found Eldigan's sword style rather… textbook, rather… practiced? No, that wasn't the word…

Chrom suddenly realized Eldigan was in a position for Chrom to set up Aether. Chrom's heart rose, and he threw himself into the technique.

Sol successfully landed on his opponent. Though Eldigan was again able to dodge Luna, he still recoiled from the minor wound.

Chrom's spirits fell. He had recovered disappointingly little stamina from Sol. _I may not be able to feel my injury, but it's still taking its toll,_ Chrom thought bleakly.

Eldigan touched the blood Chrom had drawn from him. His eyes narrowed, and he returned his attention to the Exalt.

 _That's another failed Aether,_ Chrom panted. _If I keep this up, he'll start finding my setups… predictable…_

Chrom's eyes widened. _Predictable…_

Chrom remembered stories from his childhood. His studies he had oft ignored—yet despite Chrom's best efforts, his tutors still succeeded at teaching him _some_ things.

He remembered stories about Jugdral. About Sigurd of Chalphy; about his campaign, about his allies. About Eldigan.

Chrom grinned. He knew who Eldigan was. He knew exactly what he had to do.

Chrom soon found another opening for Aether, and even though he knew it wouldn't touch Eldigan, he launched it anyway.

Chrom had learned Aether long, long ago. He still remembered the early days: he would often forget that he had the skill in his repertoire, so he would let simple opportunities go unnoticed. At the time, he had felt that the skill was almost entirely chance; that all it took was dumb luck to have an opportunity to use, and it was not a tool he could rely on in battle.

However, after Aversa's fall at Origin Peak, and Grima's subsequent entrapment, Chrom had found himself with months of practice ahead before the final battle with the fell dragon. With all that free time, he decided to put hard work into testing Aether's limits, training to find ways he could reliably use the skill. Versus Grima, he reasoned—versus a _god—_ he would need every tool in his arsenal on hand at all times.

Chrom could reasonably say that he had mastered the skill. He found possibly _dozens_ of ways to reliably set up the technique; he could practically launch the skill at will versus even most competent opponents.

Dozens of setups… yet versus Eldigan, he only used one.

He caught glimpses of opportunities to use Aether differently, to mix things up, and he refused to take them. He simply did the same thing, every time: block with the Emblem, launch Aether, get thwarted by Eldigan's defensiveness.

Chrom parried an attack from Eldigan, and his confidence wavered; a minor jolt of pain ran down his side. _Vulnerary's wearing off,_ he thought grimly. _C'mon, Eldigan, do the thing._

Chrom readied Aether yet again, but this time was different. Eldigan closed in, aggressively challenging Chrom's setup. The Lionheart weaved past Falchion and the Fire Emblem, and he struck with his knee, right where it hurt: in Siegmund's burial ground.

Chrom roared in pain—a kind reminder that his painkillers had thoroughly worn off. He clenched his teeth into a grimace as he saw his blood fly, and felt his stitches tear yet again. _That's four! Do I hear five?!_

Chrom was forced to fall to a knee, panting in pain. He numbly heard a high-pitched cry from behind him; was it Lucina? Maribelle? …Brady?

Chrom looked up at Eldigan, who was readying a killing blow.

"Do it, you bastard," Chrom muttered through his teeth.

Eldigan brought the Mystletainn down.

Chrom squeezed Falchion. Finally, the time had come to mix things up. Aether ran through his blade.

 _Sol!_ He slashed upwards with surprising ferocity, deflecting Mystletainn; in the same motion, Chrom regained his feet.

Eldigan staggered, and Chrom saw his opportunity. For the briefest instant, he was reminded of the fight versus Ephraim: the opportunity to seize the kill and end the fight quickly.

This time, Chrom took it.

 _Luna!_

The azure edge of Falchion sliced a clean, horizontal line.

Eldigan's head swiftly left his body. After a brief sail through the sky, it rolled onto the grass nearby.

All was silent. Eldigan's torso fell sideways, limp, into the dirt.

Particles of midnight-blue flame began to rise.

Chrom grimly watched as the two pieces of Eldigan burned away; Eldigan's empty eyes still held tempered shock.

Chrom looked away.

 _I guess I'm a killer again._

* * *

Eldigan's Einherjar all surrendered, as promised. Chrom watched them grimly file through the camp, one by one.

Chrom glanced down at the card of Eldigan in his hands. His eyes narrowed.

Morgan cleared her throat. "Ahem. Chrom?"

"Yeah?"

Morgan crossed her arms. "Mind explaining how you did it?" She paused. "Wait, that sounded like I'm not impressed." She forced a wide smile. "Ohmygawds, _Chrom,_ that was INCREDIBLE! How did you do it?!"

Chrom shrugged. "Eldigan was a legendary warrior and everything. He even had that sword, Mystletainn; that's one of the strongest weapons I've ever fought against. Even Sigurd wasn't _that_ bad, since I had backup at the time."

"Okay? That doesn't really answer my question."

"Right. Thing is, unlike Sigurd, or Seliph, or Ike, or Ephraim, or… almost _any_ other Einherjar we've faced, Eldigan's missing something critical. He has never, ever fought in a war, while I've fought in… what… three and a half?"

"Is 'versus Grima' the half, or the Einherjar War?"

Chrom shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Point is, Eldigan was very powerful, and he was definitely well-trained, but he had never fought actual combat a day in his life. All he knew were the… the textbook ways of fighting. He was predictable, and would fall for even minor deception in combat; no amount of sparring can prepare you for someone who will do _anything_ to kill you." Chrom scratched his chin. "To be honest… I probably didn't need to resort to trickery to defeat him. I have so many setups for it, I could've constantly mixed up Aether, kept him on edge; he couldn't have dodged Luna forever. But this way was probably faster."

Morgan took a shaky breath. She subtly wiped a small tear from her eye. "Gods, Chrom… You're… You're actually amazing."

Chrom smiled.

"You must make my dad so happy."

 _"There_ it is." Chrom shook his head. "Anyway… Morgan, I'm sorry if I was harsh to you earlier."

Morgan waved it away. "Don't worry about it, Captain, you were totally in the right."

"I _know_ I was right. That's not what I was apologizing for."

Morgan's jaw dropped. "Whaaat? _Sass?_ I am so proud of you, Chrom!"

"Heh. It's not sass if I'm your superior. But thanks." Chrom crossed his arms; his cheer slowly faded away. "So… we've won. Guess that means…"

"Yeah."

"I'm not sure what to do, Morgan."

"Me neither. …Still having doubts in Marth's story?"

"Some, yes."

Chrom and Morgan fell silent.

"Ahoy, Chrom!"

They turned to face Anna as she approached.

Anna stopped next to Chrom, grinning. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah." Chrom sighed. "Did Maribelle tell you everything?"

"Nope. What's up, handsome? You seem awfully gloomy for being the new Champion of All Einherjar."

"Anna…" Chrom grimaced. "Have you been keeping secrets from me?"

Anna's smile flickered. "What?"

"Anna." Chrom met her eye seriously. "Anna, who is Old Hubba?"

Anna glanced at Morgan, as if asking, "Is he serious?" Morgan, however, was similarly grave, so Anna turned back to Chrom. Her smile was gone. "I don't know what you're talking about, Chrom…"

Chrom took a step closer. "Don't lie to me, Anna."

"I'm not!" Anna backed away, putting up defensive hands. "I swear, I don't know anything about him. Why? What's going on?"

"I…" Chrom sighed. He turned away and backed off of Anna. "To be honest, I'm not sure, either."

Anna frowned. "…I should get in touch with my sisters, then. Maybe even Mother."

Chrom stopped. "That's… That's a great idea, Anna!" He faced her, enthusiastic. "Yes! Reach your family; they'll be able to tell us the truth. And then, we'll figure out our next move."

"How long will it take?" Morgan asked.

"Couple hours, prolly." Anna beamed. "Well, I'll get right on that! Rest up, Mr. Champion—you've earned it."

Anna hurried away.

Chrom smiled slightly as he watched her go. "The Annas are an odd bunch… but they're always so reliable, aren't they?"

Morgan grinned. "You betcha. Now, Chrom—even if it turns out Old Hubba _is_ innocent, we need to prepare for the worst. Let's figure out some kind of strategy to take him by—"

"By _surpriiiiise?"_

Chrom and Morgan both flinched at the squealing, high-pitched voice from behind them.

"Uwee hee hee… I don't know how we feels about that, little tactician! Roro, roro…" This time, the voice came from the other side.

Chrom reached for Falchion, alarmed. "Who's there?"

"Just _meee!_ Little ol' meeeeee… and me, and me, and…"

From yet another direction, the voice finally showed itself. It was a tall, muscular man, hefting a weighty axe on his shoulder. His face was obscured with a horned, green and white mask.

Chrom drew his sword. "Who are you?" He looked around. "How did you—?"

"Ohoho, don't you worry," the berserker squealed. "You could never keep all of me out… I is everywhere, yes, yes…"

"He's a madman," Chrom muttered. Louder, he called, "What is your name?"

"Hee, hee… Roro, roro…"

"Sounds like it's Roro," Morgan said. She turned to face Chrom. "I'm not familiar with—" Her eyes widened. "Chrom, behind you!"

A second axeman loomed in the shadows behind Chrom, and Chrom readied for an attack—however, the man stood still.

"Another one?!" Chrom exclaimed. "How many are there?"

"Jussst one," Roro hissed. "And yet, so many…"

"Yes, yes, so many," said the second one. "Roro, roro…"

Morgan looked around, spotting three more identical axemen approaching. "They're—they're all Roros!"

"That's not possible, Morgan. They're just… brothers, or…"

"Yes, yes, not possible!"

"Uwee hee hee, yes, impossible, mm!"

"Roro, roro! It doesn't understand… We are Legion! Hee hee…"

"Roro, roro…"

"Legion?" Morgan murmured curiously.

Chrom shook his head, but the chattering refused to cease. "Fine! Why are you here? What do you want, Legion?"

"Uwee hee… Mutterings, we heard mutterings…"

"Discontent…"

"The redhead, the redhead…"

"Start making sense!" Chrom commanded. Glancing around, he noticed more Shepherds appearing, having noticed the commotion; they began to coalesce there, in the center of camp.

The Roros—rather, the Legion decided to part, allowing the Shepherds through for fear of inciting combat otherwise.

"We… we wish no harm." Its snide manner of speaking robbed the Legion of its credibility.

"Your allies, we have been… Yes… uwee hee…"

"But yet, the mutterings!"

"Mutterings, mutterings!"

"As if you feel ungrateful… as if you… suspect!"

"Suspect, yes, it suspects…"

"Hey, anybody else remember the part where I said _start making sense?!"_ Chrom shouted. "What are you here for, Legion?"

A familiar voice responded in lieu of the Legion: "Ah, sorry 'bout that! Oy, chill out, you guys."

Supported by his cane, Old Hubba appeared. Though wary, Chrom sheathed his sword.

"Hoo boy!" said Old Hubba, beaming. "Long walks really take it outta you, huh? At least it ain't Warp Powder; now THAT stuff is potent. Still can't find it, by the way—any luck on that front?"

Morgan coughed.

The old man waved it away. "Anywho, stand down, Legion. No need ta bite their heads off over nothin', huh?"

The Legion was quiet. They all stood beside Old Hubba, facing the mass of Shepherds.

"Don't be scared o' this big galoot." Hubba patted one of the Roros on the breastplate. "He can be friendly, honest! He's one o' my guards. Though I guess I'm stretchin' the meaning of 'one' a little."

"Guards?" Morgan murmured, surprised. The word triggered a memory.

 _Marth never explained what those three cards were,_ she realized. _Old Hubba's "guards"… Well, regardless, here's one of them. Er, "one" of them._

Old Hubba continued. "Well, Chrom, I am mighty proud of ya. These were the last Einherjar, right?"

"Yeah," Chrom said. His eyes carried distrust.

"Good work! 'The last of the Einherjar,' hoho. An' the end of the Einherjar War! Excellent work, boy, _excellent_ work!"

"Thank you." Chrom's eyes narrowed. "We were just… doing the right thing."

"It suspects," a Roro hissed under its breath.

"Now now, what's with that tone? Why so glum, Chrom?" Old Hubba asked jovially.

Chrom closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, before finally opening his eyes and smiling. "I'm sorry, Old Hubba. I suppose this has just taken a lot out of me. Anyway, what brings you here? We would've been back in just… a few hours, probably."

"I got all excited, though! I couldn't stay cooped up in the mansion when I knew y'all were out winnin' the war!" Old Hubba rubbed his hands together excitedly. "So, that card in yer hand is Eldigan the Lionheart, right? Wielder of the Mistolteen! Mistoltin? …Missiletainn?"

Owain sneezed.

Old Hubba waved it away. "Whatever! Anyway, we're done here, eh?" He outreached a hand. "Hand 'im over, and we'll go celebrate back at the mansion!"

Chrom hesitated; his hand reflexively clenched around Eldigan's card.

This was the moment of truth.

 _Do I trust him?_

If he handed this card over, it signified his trust in Old Hubba. This amounted to handing Old Hubba a weapon.

Chrom glanced at Morgan. She silently, subtly shook her head. _Don't do it._

Chrom looked over his shoulder, searching the crowd. Cynthia quickly caught his eye: her fury from last night had returned, and she wordlessly echoed Morgan's sentiment. _Don't give that bastard a damn thing._

Chrom faced Old Hubba, whose bright smile had faltered in mild confusion.

 _I don't have a valid reason to refuse,_ he thought. _After all, the objective of this Einherjar War was always "return the Einherjar to Old Hubba." If I say no, it would only be out of defiance._

It all came back to the same thing.

 _Do I trust him?_

Chrom closed his eyes again. Deep breath: in, out.

All his Shepherds were here to listen. And listen they would.

"Is it true?"

Old Hubba blinked. His hand slowly fell. "Pardon?"

Chrom opened his eyes. Anger welled in his heart, and he clenched his hands into fists. "Dammit, Old Hubba, you know exactly what I'm talking about!" He jabbed a finger at a Roro. "He—It— _They_ heard everything! _Is it true?!"_

The Legion chattered quietly among themselves. Their consensus seemed to be "It suspects, yes, roro!"

But Old Hubba put up a hand, quieting them. He then placed both hands atop his cane, and he sighed deeply, leaning on the stick for support.

"Chrom… I can't lie," the old man began quietly. "I'm… very disappointed. But I suppose I always knew it was only a matter of time before you found out."

Chrom's fingernails dug into his palms. "So it _is_ true."

"I knew I recognized Seliph," Old Hubba mused. "Didn't hit me until just now, but he was one of Bea's, wasn't he? Heheh. Guess that explains that."

"You've been our enemy all along," Morgan spat.

"That's really too bad. I actually liked you, lass. So spirited! So knowledgeable! So… adorable!" Old Hubba chuckled. "I've always preferred sexiness over cuteness, but you're just a delight."

"That! That's just creepy! Stop being creepy!"

Old Hubba shrugged. "Sorry."

The mass of Shepherds exchanged confused glances. Chrom heard some concerned murmurs from the crowd.

Old Hubba smiled, and he started striding closer to Chrom.

"See, when I got all loud 'n' proud about how Einherjar are just _automatons…_ about how Celica's so gullible… just to egg her on into fighting you? That, sure, that was kinda weak. I mean, _eight_ Einherjar ain't gonna do much to ya! Yer the _Shepherds._ Legendary warriors of the Inrealm!"

Movement from behind Old Hubba caught Chrom's eye. More Einherjar, appearing from the shadows. Chrom's hand wrapped around Falchion's hilt.

Old Hubba continued. "But I thought, _surely,_ Ephraim's gonna be a _real_ challenge. And if you talked 'im down first, where'd the fun be? So I, y'know, expedited things, had _another_ one o' my guards make sure Eirika couldn't run crying to 'er brother. But _hoo-ee!"_ Old Hubba shook his head, stopping for a moment to place his hands on his hips. "I'll be damned if you didn't impress me there, too! Odds were stacked against ya, an' _still_ the worst that happened was that there hip injury. But!" He raised a finger. "But then I thought, "Ya know what'd _really_ get Chrom's goat?" And I told the Legion this; I told 'em, "If we got Eldigan to ambush Chrom while he's a-sleepin', there's _no way_ all of his prized Shepherds could get outta _that_ in one piece." The Legion were all, "I dunno, mate," but I was SURE." He clasped his hands together, beaming at Chrom. "But here we are! Goodness gracious, not a harmed hair on any of yer people's heads. Guess I shoulda counted on Eldigan's personality, huh? Shoulda guessed he'd be willin' to do what he did?" He glanced at a Roro for confirmation, but the masked man just shrugged. Old Hubba rolled his eyes, disappointed, and turned back to Chrom. "Anywho, moral of the story is, you've got _guts,_ kid. An' I applaud ya for all you've done to keep everyone breathin', despite my best efforts."

Old Hubba's smile flickered. "But… somethin' you've gotta know is that it ain't _never_ possible to save everyone. If you haven't learned that lesson yet, I'd be happy to be yer teacher."

"What happened to Beatrice was unfortunate and tragic," Chrom said, a fire growing in his heart, "but it doesn't excuse murder!"

The old man's smile disappeared outright. "Don't you _dare_ think you understand what happened that night. If you'd been there—held her like I did, felt that same anger at someone who could never _really_ be punished—you'd know that everythin' I've done has been for _that."_

Chrom frowned grimly. "So, you blame Roy? …No… you blame _all_ of the Einherjar."

Hubba clenched his teeth. "My patience is runnin' on fumes," he warned. "Chrom, yer gonna hand over that card. _My_ card."

"I can't," Chrom stated. "You've been abusing the Einherjar for far too long. I won't let you continue."

Old Hubba was seemingly taken aback. "Y— _YOU_ won't LET me?!"

"How many?" Chrom demanded. "Can you tell me how many people have died, staining Beatrice's name? …Can you tell me how many is enough before you are finally sated?"

"Hold yer tongue, whelp!" Old Hubba shouted, and he stomped closer.

The ancient man stopped just before Chrom. Chrom refused to back down, and he met Hubba's eye.

Old Hubba's bushy eyebrows contorted downward into a dark glare. "I was an old man when Tiki drew her gasping, nascent breath! And in another heartbeat, yer grandchildren's grandchildren will be long forgotten by the pages of history." He leaned in close, his large nose nearly touching Chrom's. "So, sonny, it's probably in your best interest if you listen to ol' Hubba. Now be a pal, and _give me that card._ "

Chrom glared defiantly at Old Hubba. _"Make me."_

Old Hubba held Chrom's glare for a moment, but it soon became clear to him that Chrom would not yield.

Old Hubba sighed, and he backed away from Chrom. "…I'm sorry it has to be that way."

The old man glanced aside at Morgan. He gave her a curt nod.

Morgan frowned. _What, does he think I'll act diff—_ "Guh!"

An arm wrapped around Morgan's throat, accompanied by a warm light glowing inches from her face.

"Morgan!" Cynthia exclaimed, elbowing her way to the front, but Morgan's captor halted her with a command:

"Don't move!"

Morgan's eyes widened. She knew that voice. "Katarina?!"

Katarina ignored her. She tightened her grip and walked her prisoner several paces away from the Shepherds. Thunder magic glistened in her threatening hand, aimed at Morgan's cheek.

When at a safe distance, she whispered into Morgan's ear: "I'm really sorry, Morgan…" Morgan briefly wrestled against Katarina, but the assassin tightened her grip. "Please don't fight me; I don't want to kill you."

Old Hubba laughed. "Good work, Reese! Well done!"

Spots flashed in Morgan's eyes. _So she's the second guard,_ she thought hazily. _Who's number three…?_

Old Hubba turned back to Chrom. "Well, you did tell me to make you. Is this enough? Or should my assassin here finish the job?"

"No!" Chrom said quickly. "…No." He glanced down at Eldigan's card.

Morgan gasped for air. Katarina—Reese—did not loosen her chokehold.

Reluctantly, Chrom lifted the card. He handed it to Old Hubba.

Hubba laughed as he pocketed the card. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Listen." He placed both of his hands on the cane and smiled simply. "It's fitting, I think. Or… ironic, rather? Hee hee. The Outrealms are beautiful. Beautiful! Stunnin' scenery, fantastic locations… There are inhabited 'Realms, y'know. They hold the _best_ Harvest Festivals. An' the Annas, they host some o' the nicest vacation spots you'd ever see. But no! In yer search for yer missin' companion, you run across the one, worst possible Outrealm."

Old Hubba's smile disappeared. He leaned closer, and hissed: _"Mine."_

He leaned back. "Chrom, you've been trespassin' in my home for far too long. It's intruders like you that cause problems: Algol, Bea's killer, Robin…" He turned away. "But still, it ain't as if we haven't had fun! I really had a good time these past couple days. I'll treasure these memories 'til the day I die. You folks are so helpful…" He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "I—and really, I truly mean this, from the bottom o' my heart—I thank you for your service."

Old Hubba turned away and began to walk. "In lieu of a Marth ready to fight ya personally, I've got the lovely Clarisse here to pick up the torch." He raised his hand over his head and made a circle. "Take the shot, beautiful!"

Chrom's eyes widened.

* * *

Clarisse took a knee and eased the string back, breathing deeply. From her vantage point, she could see all of the Shepherds and Einherjar gathered below.

She picked Chrom out of the crowd. _Sitting duck. Well done, Reese._

She closed an eye, taking aim.

Clarisse held her breath.

"Enough."

Clarisse started, quickly turning to face the voice behind her.

Marth stood over her, his radiant weapon at the ready.

"I'm finally a master of my own fate," Marth stated. "It's time I begin making amends."

Clarisse's breath was rapid. She hastily raised her bow, readying a point-blank shot.

A glistening trail followed the swing of Falchion as Marth slashed the bow in half. He followed through by burying the sword into Clarisse's chest; a great heaving gasp came from Clarisse.

Marth knelt beside her, grasping the sword tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear, as she wheezed in pain. "You will soon awaken anew."

He removed his sword from her, and she collapsed, dissipating into flames.

* * *

Katarina's eyes were wide. Her breath was gone.

Old Hubba paled as he sighted the blue figure atop the hill. "Marth," he breathed.

Light magic burst on Katarina from behind. Morgan fell out of her grip, and Cynthia didn't miss a beat: with a roar, she drove her lance into the assassin's gut.

Two of Old Hubba's Einherjar threw off their cloaks, revealing themselves to be Seliph and Leif. They immediately drew their swords and slew those nearest to them.

Old Hubba looked around, panicking. "K-Kill all of 'em!" he shouted, as he began to retreat.

He hobbled away as fast as he could, hiding behind his wall of Einherjar.

Chrom turned to face Morgan. "I need you to get me through," he said. "I'll deal with the old man, I just need you to keep them off of me."

Morgan wanted to argue, "You're wounded, let someone else do it!" But she hadn't the time, and she knew Chrom's answer. So, she replied, "Got it, Captain!"

Chrom glanced up at the hillside—Clarisse's former sniping position. Marth stood atop the hill, his sword reflecting the dawn sunlight.

Marth raised Falchion into the sky.

 _"I'll be back at the end," indeed,_ Chrom thought, grinning.

Chrom drew his own Falchion and aimed it skyward. "Shepherds, rally here! Clear me a path! This is our final battle—hold nothing back!"

And so, the Shepherds went to war.

* * *

 _Next time:  
_

 _Chapter 12 – **Einherjar Heaven**_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _[HELLA LATE EDIT: FE Heroes officially named Clarisse, so I changed all instances of "Kleine" to "Clarisse;" likewise for Katarina's real name, which I changed from "Eine" to "Reese." I'm still going to leave this here though.]_

 _Biggest dilemma I've faced in this story so far was whether to call a certain sniper "Kuraine" or "Kleine." There's no official name for her._

 _To be honest, I preferred Kuraine. I like the name more. Not to mention that there's a guy from FE6 named "Klein," WHO IS ALSO A SNIPER. Confusion City, population: FE fans._

 _However, Kleine is what the fan translation used, and I'm not doing anybody any favors (or winning any OG points) by continuing to use Kuraine when Kleine should really push that out of favor. It's like if I still clung to "Celice" and "Cuan" and "Leaf."_

 _…The difference is that those characters have OFFICIAL names, unlike Kleine, but…_

 _Whatever. I don't have to seriously worry about this sort of thing until I write something FE4-related._

 _(And hey, there's a nice theme going with Kleine and Eine's names… though that leaves out Roro/Legion and Eremiah.)_


	12. Einherjar Heaven

Chapter 12: **Einherjar Heaven**

 _or: **Last of the Einherjar**_

* * *

The tent flap rustled. Taking pause from unfurling their temporary sleeping arrangements, Nah and Katarina faced the newcomer.

Morgan grinned as she moved to place a stack of papers atop a storage chest. "Heya! How's it coming over here? Feeling good, Nah?"

Katarina put her hands on her hips, surveying the tent. "I think it's been going fine…"

"Yeah. I'm feeling better, at least." Nah peered over Morgan's shoulder. "What're all those papers?"

Morgan waved it away. "Logistical stuff. You probably wouldn't care about it."

"Yeah, you're ri—"

Morgan explained anyway. "See, this right here is a manifest of the Einherjar."

"Oh, okay." Nah intended to drop the subject there, in the hopes that Morgan wouldn't continue. However, after a pause, Nah realized that she actually _was_ curious.

Sighing, knowing that she was basically _asking_ for a long-winded speech from Morgan, Nah reluctantly enquired, "The manifest, huh? How come?"

"Well, it's not THE manifest," said Morgan. "Not Old Hubba's, I mean. I filled this out during his lecture earlier. It's a list of all the Einherjar we've saved so far, from Shanna to Ephraim. So it doesn't include Eldigan's last twenty-nine folks, but it's still comprehensive."

Nah nodded. A part of her wanted to be surprised that Morgan could compose the entire list from memory; the list was over sixty names long. However, she understood that it really was effortless for Morgan to remember such things.

"What's it for?" Katarina asked.

But Nah was rapidly losing interest, so she swiftly tried to change the subject. "Hey, Morgan. When Chrom told us earlier that the mansion wasn't safe, what did he mean?"

Morgan smiled. "I'm glad you asked! Both of you, I mean. Because the answer's the same for both!"

Nah exchanged a curious glance with Katarina.

"Well, I guess I'm not _glad,"_ Morgan continued. She tilted her head. "I mean… it's not exactly good news."

"Morgan, I had to go through the Outrealm Gate," Nah said sternly. "I deserve to know why I had to faint in front of everyone."

Morgan put up her hands in defense. "Fine, fine!" She grabbed the manifest and approached the other two. "See, I broke the list up into two columns: 'Einherjar under my command' and 'Einherjar under Old Hubba's command.'" She pointed at the second column. "You see, I abbreviated Old Hubba to 'OH'. Saved some ink."

"Yes, Morgan, I think we got that."

"Well duh, I just explained it to you." Morgan pointed. "See, Old Hubba has nearly all of the Einherjar. The ones we got on Talys, the _other_ ones we got on Talys, and the ones we got in Jungby. Shanna, Celica, and Sigurd. And unfortunately, I was wrong: Old Hubba _does_ have most of the Einherjar we got at the Dragon's Gate. Still, the ones that are _mine_ are these—" Morgan tapped the first column. "We have SOME the ones from the Dragon's Gate—Ephraim and Eirika's party, including you, Katarina—as well as Caeda and Lyn. These guys are the Einherjar that I brought with us, since they're mine."

Katarina shrugged. "So what does this have to do with anything?

"Yeah, why split the list like that?"

Morgan took a breath. "Okay. Are you guys sitting down?"

Nah threw her hands up. "Wh—Do you not see us standing right in front of you?"

"Hmph. All right, Ms. Sassy-Pants. Have fun falling over when you faint in shock." Morgan crossed her arms. "Guys, bad news. Turns out Old Hubba isn't our friend. He's actually a piece of crap who tried to kill my dad, _did_ kill a few Annas, and plans on killing all of us as soon as we've gotten the rest of the Einherjar for him. He's a psychopath who's been murdering people with his Einherjar for decades."

Nah's jaw dropped; Katarina recoiled a step in shock.

"What?!" Nah exclaimed. "You're—messing with me, right? That can't be true."

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Okay, he's _allegedly_ a murderous psychopath. Chrom doesn't buy the story, even though it makes perfect sense."

Katarina's eyes were wide. "Wh…You…" Her eyes flicked toward the tent flap. "I think I… need some air."

Morgan frowned. She and Nah parted to let Katarina through.

* * *

Katarina's heartbeat resounded loudly in her ears as she walked through camp, pointedly keeping her eyes down.

 _She knows!_ Katarina thought. _How? How did she find out?!_ _I don't know what to do! Clarisse just said I had to watch them…_ She shook her head. _I need directions._

Her eyes slowly widened. _…Yes! Directions!_

Katarina picked up the pace. It wasn't long before she had left the Shepherds' camp behind.

* * *

The foliage provided perfect shade for Katarina's infiltration, and with ease, Katarina slipped past Eldigan's night watch and entered the Gallian fort.

She now found herself in the center of the fort's main chamber. Enclosed by mossy bricks, the claustrophobic halls all looked annoyingly identical.

 _Was it left?_ she thought. _Or was it down the right?_

"We sleeps on the left, yes."

"Yes yes."

Startled, Katarina whirled around—to thankfully find two of the Legion approaching her. She sighed with relief, putting a hand over her heart.

"Geez, Roro," she scolded, "you could've really scared me."

"We meant to inspire no fear, no," one whispered.

"Yet you tremble, Reese. What gives you that fearful stench?"

"She knows it is dangerous for her here, mm? We works for Eldigan; she's does not."

Katarina shook her head. "It's the Shepherds. They _know!_ They don't trust Old Hubba anymore."

Both scratched their chins identically—or rather, where their chins would be were it not for the masks. "Hmm…"

"Acceleration, then…?"

"Mm, yes. Yes, make haste, make haste."

"Haste must be made."

Katarina took a breath. "So what do we do? What are my orders?"

"Confer."

"Confer with Clarisse, mm."

"Mm."

Katarina frowned. "How am I supposed to get in touch with her? She's always so well-hidden."

"I suppose so; I consider that my strong suit."

Katarina was startled once again by the surprise voice. From the shadows came a tall blonde, watching Katarina analytically. The sniper adjusted the bow slung across her back and crossed her arms.

Katarina smiled. "Clarisse!"

Clarisse returned the smile. "Hello, Reese. You've been doing very well so far."

"Y-You too, Clarisse! You're always so… so…" Katarina searched for an appropriate adjective.

However, Clarisse cut her off, her serious expression returning. "So they no longer trust our master. It seems we will need to execute the sabotage come daybreak."

"Mm, or _now,"_ one of the Legion mused.

"Yes, we could slaughter them, yes. While they sleep, roro."

Clarisse shook her head. "No; we are at a disadvantage in the night. We may have the initial cover of darkness and the element of surprise, but they have superior numbers and extremely powerful warriors. Not to mention, they have more than a few fighters capable of excellent night-vision, unlike Eldigan's army. My scouting reported several thieves and even a few Manaketes, not to mention a few other beast-like soldiers I don't know the capabilities of."

"So, what, ambush them during the day?" Katarina asked. "That seems like a terrible plan. Er, I mean—"

"No. We attack just before daybreak. We will strike with the element of surprise, under cover of night: but when they have gathered their bearings and mount a retaliatory assault, we will have the sun at our backs."

"Th-That's a great plan, Clarisse!" Katarina beamed. "How can I be a part of it?"

* * *

"So you're telling me… that there are enemies camped a half-mile into the woods?" Eldigan's voice dripped with skepticism. "And you're saying that I should march all of my warriors, through the woods, _in the dark,_ to face these alleged combatants?"

The solitary Roro inclined its head meekly. "Yes, yessss… It seems suspicious, but I's swearing I tell the truth, roro… The Algol, it said to oust intruders, mm?"

Eldigan's eyes narrowed. "Those _are_ our orders… but I don't know about leaving this fortification unmanned. What if it's a trap, meant to lure us out?"

"Mm! Roro, roro—we will hold the position ourself, yes!"

This voice came from behind Eldigan. He started in surprise, his hand clenching around Mystletainn—but then sighed irritably and relaxed his grip. "…Ah yes, I forgot. You're called 'the Legion' for a reason. Sneaky sort…" He turned his attention to the first Roro. "So you're telling me that you'll guard the fort on your own?"

Roro nodded its head emphatically.

Eldigan sighed contemplatively. "If you're telling the truth… then I suppose I don't have much choice in the matter. Which way?"

Both of the Legion giggled. "You… will know the way soon, roro. Uwee hee hee…"

* * *

Katarina took a breath. _I'm sorry, Morgan._

She raised her palm into the sky, and a ball of Fire came forth. The camp came to life with a pale red glow, and a faint raucous of the awakening Shepherds grew.

* * *

Said raucous had reached a fever pitch, but was now fading into the distance. Now all that was left was the red.

Katarina's fingers twitched. Her vision was blurred from the pain; she could hardly see. Nothing could save her from the death Cynthia had forced upon her.

She stared at the pool of blood coalescing around her. Red, red, red.

And—blue. Blue… fire.

Her hand, it—it was vanishing. She was enraptured by the sight. Arcane flames at her fingertips, yet she had no control.

 _Where do these thoughts go?_ she thought. _These—memories, do they just… vanish? When I wake up again… will the me of now be gone forever?_

 _Is there a heaven for us?_

Her eyes closed.

* * *

Emmeryn stumbled. The lifeless Katarina she'd tripped over continued to fade away as Emmeryn fell forward into the dirt. A costly error: the enemy paladin, Marcus, was swift with retribution for Emmeryn's mistake.

But an allied guardian had other intentions. Twin silver lances clashed, and with another swing, Marcus circled his horse away, retreating to press his assault elsewhere.

Emmeryn's guardian—Frederick—turned to face her. "Milady, are you hurt?"

Emmeryn stood on wobbling feet. She felt blood in her palms, and she wasn't sure it was hers.

Regardless, she nodded. "Th-Thank you for…"

"Milady, we haven't the time. Astride my horse, Lady Emmeryn: we ride!"

Emmeryn inelegantly clambered atop Frederick's horse, eventually planting herself behind him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she nodded. "R-Ready!"

"Arcfire in hand?"

"Mm-hm!"

Frederick slashed his reins. _"Hyah!"_ And his armored horse rode into the fray.

* * *

The Shepherds formed a knife, a wedge. An angular wall formed beside Chrom as they facilitated his journey through the Einherjar formation.

"Onward! Clear me a path!" Chrom cried. His Falchion helped him carve his route. "We end this today, Shepherds!"

Yet his wall was falling away one by one, to fight smaller, unavoidable engagements. The Einherjar would not simply let Chrom through; a battle would have to be fought, whether Chrom was a part of it or not. Not everyone would make it through to see Old Hubba.

As Chrom's guard dwindled—more and more Shepherds caught up in combat, unable to protect him any longer—the fight became tougher. Spells and steel flew, with a chaos uncommon to such a relatively small engagement.

It wasn't long before Chrom had only his tactician. Morgan grasped a steel sword in one hand, a Thoron tome in the other. She was as capable a fighter as a strategist, Chrom was now learning—through her protection alone was he making it through.

After all, his hip burned with an unholy fury. He hadn't had the opportunity to reapply the painkilling salve following his duel with Eldigan, nor his stitches; each swing of Falchion drew a gasp from the Exalt.

"Chrom!" Morgan called over the chaos. Her eyes scanned the field for any unoccupied Einherjar with eyes on Chrom; for now, however, all enemies appeared to be engaged elsewhere. "I can't go with you to fight Old Hubba. I'm needed here."

"I understand," Chrom said. "I'll take him alone."

"Good luck," said Morgan, shooting him a sideways grin. "I'll spare you the "good luck" kiss, and give you a "well done" one when we're through."

"Please don't," were Chrom's final words to her before heading for the woods.

Through those woods was Eldigan's encampment—the direction Old Hubba had escaped in. Chrom limped for the dim foliage, barely lit by the morning sun.

But the braying of a horse, and clear hoofbeats bound for Chrom, drew his attention. It was a white stallion, carrying a foreign standard.

And astride the horse was Sigurd, Tyrfing in hand.

Chrom's grip tightened on Falchion. "Sigurd…"

Sigurd didn't respond. Rather, he raised his weapon, and his horse broke into a dash.

 _He's dead,_ Chrom thought, grimacing. He raised Falchion, and grunted loudly as he deflected the passing horseman's strike. He felt a red wetness trickle down his side, shaken loose from the exertion.

As Sigurd circled around for another pass, Chrom suppressed bitter disappointment. _Old Hubba cleaned house while we were gone. Killed all of his Einherjar, resurrected them… with orders to be silent and kill without remorse._ He remembered Marth's story of Beatrice's killer. _…Does Hubba not see the irony?_

Chrom sighed, thinking of the pleasant conversation he had shared with Sigurd the other day. _That's gone,_ he thought sadly. _That never happened, now._ _…And now I have to fight ANOTHER Jugdrali wielding a holy weapon._ He furrowed his eyebrows, holding his wounded side and watching Sigurd. _So how am I gonna pull THIS off…?_

Sigurd had steered his horse full circle and was now hell-bent on the Exalt, who readied his Falchion defensively.

But a swish of blue slid in between—Chrom briefly hesitated, startled, at this potential new foe.

But the man's back was to Chrom, and he glanced over his shoulder to give the Exalt a reassuring grin. "I'll take this," said Ephraim, grasping Reginleif. "Do what you have to do, Sir Chrom."

Chrom was taken aback. _I don't even want to get into what's ironic about THIS._ "Thanks," he said. "I promise, I'll make everyone's efforts worthwhile."

"I don't doubt that." Ephraim faced Sigurd. "Now, be on your way! I'll deal with this miscreant."

"Right," Chrom said. "You don't pick fights you can't win."

Ephraim shot him an annoyed glance.

Chrom sighed and limped for the woods.

* * *

Chrom was now alone, heading through the foliage. The sounds of combat faded behind him. His ears rang from the new silence, and he took this moment to gather his thoughts.

Thought number one: he was pretty tired.

Thought number two (and this one was confirmed by a downward glance): he was losing blood at an alarming rate.

Chrom leaned against a tree and dug into his satchel for a piece of cloth. Finding it, he doused it in water from his canteen, and—clenching his teeth in expectation—he pressed the cloth against his wound.

"Mmgh!" he moaned, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. The initial daggers were slow to subside, but subside they did, leaving a dull pain in their wake. Continuing to hold the cloth against the injury, Chrom limped toward the Gallian fort.

It wasn't long before Chrom broke through the trees, finding himself atop a hill overlooking the ruined fort. His eyes were immediately caught by the only movement to be seen.

Chrom's eyes narrowed. The movement was Old Hubba, moving at a surprisingly quick pace for one needing a cane.

Chrom glanced down at the sheathed Falchion on his hip. _It's time._ He began to clamber down the hill.

* * *

The cobblestone walls of the fort were mossy and claustrophobic; a damp heat hung in the air. Chrom found himself short on breath, though he knew that that was not entirely owed to the humidity.

More importantly, the halls were dark and winding; Old Hubba had a plethora of places to hide. Chrom took quiet steps, keeping his ears open.

A click of noise down a hallway; was it a cane? It could've been dripping water for all Chrom knew, but it was as good a lead as any. He finally dropped the cloth from his hip, freeing his hand to draw Falchion. The sliding of metal against scabbard made a small amount of noise, causing Chrom to wince, but he had no choice but to continue regardless.

He made slow, careful movements as he approached a room at the end of the hallway. _Patience and caution,_ he thought, amusing himself. _Now that I think about it, that advice applies to pretty much ev—_

"OOF!" Bright lights, harsh pain in his nose. He was on his back before he knew it, clutching his broken nose.

Old Hubba stepped out from his hiding place behind a corner, holding his chest and panting. He leaned against his cane; the wood was now bloodied from the blow it had inflicted on Chrom.

* * *

"Ahoy! Nerd!" Morgan pointed at Laurent. "I need you!"

Laurent sighed, pushing up his glasses as he hurried over to Morgan. _Even in the middle of combat…_ "What is it, Morgan?"

Morgan pointed. "Look—those guys over there have weaker magic resistance. I need our mages concentrated over there."

"I was utilizing my own magic resistance to combat mages on the opposite side," Laurent noted. "I acted as a shield."

"We have healers for that," Morgan said, waving it away. "You're our punch-packer when it comes to magic. You and me are pairing up here."

Laurent hesitated. "I-I'm sure Princess Lucina requires my help more—"

"Lucina can take care of herself! _I_ need your help, Laurent. Would you stop questioning me for five seconds?!" Morgan placed her hands on her hips. "In case you haven't noticed, I _AM_ your tactician. Until Dad gets back, that's not gonna change. I know you don't care for me, but you are _going_ to get over it."

Laurent pushed his glasses up, impassive. "…I see. Very well, Morgan, I am yours to command."

Morgan huffed impatiently. "Good." She continued analyzing the surrounding battle. The Shepherds had this well in hand for now, but that could change at any moment. The numerical difference between the two armies was less severe than she'd like.

"I need those paladins gone," she said. "Marcus, Seth, Titania. They're the biggest threats. Help me take them out."

"As you command."

* * *

Chrom lay on his back, still dazed. His nose throbbed.

And Old Hubba was wheezing for breath, slumping against the opposite corner of the room.

 _Guess he's too exerted to finish the job,_ Chrom thought weakly. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, and was able to slide himself across the stone floor to lean against the wall; recognizing that he had time to catch his breath, he found his reddened cloth and placed it against his hip wound.

The two winded men glared warily at each other from across the room. A weaponless standoff.

"Wh…" Chrom tested, breathless though he was. "…Why, Old Hubba?"

Old Hubba closed his eyes, panting. "You know why. Marth… he told you. He knew… everything. Had all the details himself…" He opened an eye. "…Guess he didn't piece it together neither, considerin' you don't know." The ancient man groaned as he leaned forward to look Chrom in the eye. "I _knew_ it was suspicious when Morgan asked about Leila. Ya knew I destroyed that card, huh?"

 _'That card,'_ Chrom thought bitterly. "So, what?" he snarked. "You plan on destroying all of them, then?"

"Very good!" Old Hubba chuckled. "Ya figured out what Marth couldn't."

Chrom blinked. "I—I was kidding! That's seriously your plan?!"

"'Course," Hubba grunted, sitting back. "Soon as I got all of 'em back, an' disposed of you lot… down the gutter they'd go."

Chrom shook his head, disbelieving. "Not to repeat myself, but _why?!"_

Old Hubba settled into a comfortable position against the wall, still watching Chrom. "My inheritance," he mused, "my Einherjar… keep fallin' in the wrong hands. It's not what my ancestors would've wanted of 'em."

"But they would be fine with you _destroying_ them?"

The old man ignored him. "The wrong hands… Algol's. Bea's murderer." He looked away somberly. "…Mine."

Chrom was surprised into silence.

"I don't regret a thing I've done," Old Hubba clarified. "Everythin'… It's all been to protect me, an' to protect my home. What happened to Bea…" He shook his head wistfully. "It was so stupid… so preventable… It shoulda never happened."

Old Hubba's eyes now moved upward to meet Chrom's. "Y'know… If I'd ever wanted to, or if Algol had gotten his head outta his ass, we coulda challenged _Ylisse,_ with my Einherjar alone. Just sixty or so of my Einherjar are takin' your Shepherds evenly—if I'd had the hundred ones of our family a century ago, I coulda taken the Inrealm by storm." He looked away. "An' that's not even countin' all the other ones…"

 _All the other ones?_ Chrom thought. _…There are MORE?!_

Now, Old Hubba's expression welled with anger. "They're monsters," he snarled. "Beasts. Automatons. Perversions of human life…" He clenched his jaw. "What if there was an Einherjar of you, huh, Chrom? Or—Or one of Beatrice…" His voice cracked. "…To call them 'real' is an insult to the dead."

Chrom spoke up. "Life is life, old man."

Old Hubba scoffed. "They _ain't_ life, Chrom! They're just cards! 'Oh, look at me, I've got a Marth, trade ya for two Abels!'" Old Hubba scoffed. "'Let's play cards! I move my Oifey to E-3!'"

"That's _chess!"_

"Whatever!" Old Hubba looked away, shaking his head irritably.

Chrom took the opportunity to interject. "The Einherjar are not typical people, no… Nobody would argue that. But that doesn't mean that their lives are forfeit! They're not yours to throw away!"

A wicked glint appeared in Old Hubba's eye, and he glared at Chrom, grasping his cane and rising to his feet. "What?" he hissed, as he now stood. "Chrom, they are _precisely_ mine to throw away." The rage hiding underneath finally burst forth, and he suddenly shouted: "They are MY INHERITANCE!"

Old Hubba took a wobbling step closer. Chrom suddenly realized that action was about to resume, and he began the agonizing exercise of returning to his feet. _If we come to blows, this'll be the lamest fight ever,_ he thought wearily.

"You don't understand!" Old Hubba laughed. "Hahaha… You still don't understand! Marth never told you, did he? He didn't say nothin'?"

Chrom propped an arm against a wall, and he finally had both feet planted underneath him. With that obstacle behind him, he tried actually wielding the sword in his hand. "Wh… What are you talking about?" he wheezed. His face was growing pale.

"Beatrice!" Old Hubba hissed, spittle flying from his lips. "I'm willin' ta bet Marth, ah… _embellished_ that story a little, didn't he?"

"Explain yourself, old man." Chrom hugged his side with one arm, the other pointing Falchion.

Old Hubba stopped his approach well out of the sword's reach. Chrom, unwilling to abandon the wall that was so kindly helping him stand, did not close the gap.

 _I don't know if I could take him in a fight,_ Chrom thought miserably.

"What'd he say?" Old Hubba cackled. "Lemme guess—some kinda vague, evil thief dude, huh? Willin' ta bet Marth didn't even bother givin' the guy any motivation. So uncreative. Somethin' somethin' "must kill Beatrice," wassit?" Old Hubba leered at Chrom, and saw reservations in the Exalt's expression. "Ohoho… I'm right. I _know_ I'm right. Well, here's the facts, boy: Marth lied."

Chrom hesitated. _That wouldn't be the first time._ "…Okay, Old Hubba, let's "pretend" nobody has been honest to me since we entered the Outrealms. And, suppose Marth didn't go into detail about the thief that used Roy and Lilina to attack the mansion. Enlighten me."

Old Hubba smirked. He rested both hands atop his cane and leaned in conspiratorially. "Alright, Chrom, I'll fill you in. I'll let you know _exactly_ what happened on that night a hundred years ago."

…

* * *

…

The mansion was quiet. The cleansing had ended nearly an hour ago, and Old Hubba had most of his Einherjar tidying up; this whole ordeal had left the place in a serious mess.

Old Hubba squeezed his eyes shut. He could still see Bea—Beatrice—in his arms—bleeding—

He groaned, gripping his heart and resting on his cane for assistance.

"Sir!"

Marth approached, concern in his eyes. Old Hubba waved him off: "I can stand on my own."

Marth waited uncomfortably.

"How'd this happen?" Old Hubba murmured. "How…? Who made Roy kill my wife?"

Marth gestured toward the woods. "It was… I don't know who it was." He stiffened. "Lilina…! Her card is still out there… we need to retrieve it."

"Yeah," the old man replied absently. "Marth… take me there."

"Of… Of course, sir."

* * *

The body was not hard to find. Not hard, because it was not dead yet.

The thief—the intruder—whatever appellation felt appropriate—still coughed moribund breaths, and chuckled at the sight of Marth and Old Hubba.

"Miss me… already?" the intruder sputtered.

"Be silent," Marth ordered, but Old Hubba quieted him with a hand.

"Marth, go find the card," he said coolly.

Marth hesitated. "B-But—"

Old Hubba gave him a look. _"Marth."_

Sighing, Marth inclined his head and gave a dutiful "As you command" before passing the grounded intruder and leaving them both behind.

Old Hubba waited a moment more for Marth to leave his sight. Then, he looked back down at the dying thief. "So. What brings ya to my Outrealm, lass?"

She laughed; her dark robes shook with each chuckle. "He got someone, didn't he," she laughed. "Roy got the job done…"

Old Hubba crouched over the young lady. "Didja think you'd be able to take _all_ of us by surprise, girl? Didja actually think you could win? Because ya didn't. I've still got my Einherjar." He moved his cane and pressed it against her stab wound; she contorted in pain. "MINE. You won't take them."

Marth slowed from his jog as he returned, Lilina in hand. He joined Old Hubba in watching the girl with contempt.

"It was bad luck," she groaned. "Bad luck… Lilina had the drop on Marth, and she blew it. I can't believe I got that screwed…" She coughed blood. "Man… If I'd had the _Hero-King_ on my side, who knows what I could've gotten done for him…?"

Old Hubba shook his head. "Who's 'him'?"

She waved it away feebly. "Nobody… Don't worry 'bout it. Doesn't matter anymore, since I'm pretty much dead…"

Old Hubba crossed his arms. "Who are you?"

"Just a humble servant," she said, smiling. "Just someone who wanted to make her father happy… And if it's one consolation… my life flows with his, now."

"Whose?"

"My father's," she said. "Robin's…" She shook her head, closing her eyes. "No, he doesn't go by that anymore… Grima. Grima…"

Hubba's expression hardened.

"Marth, it seems I've suddenly lost interest in this conversation. Do the honors; between the eyes, please."

"With pleasure." Glaring down at Beatrice's murderer, Marth drew his rapier and silenced her last breath.

…

* * *

…

"No…" Chrom breathed. "No, you're lying…"

"I got no reason to lie anymore," Hubba growled, turning away. "It's the endgame. All my cards are on the table… so to speak."

"That was a hundred years ago," Chrom murmured. "That doesn't make any sense… And I've never heard of time travel that far back."

"Me neither," Old Hubba said gruffly. "To be frank, I never thought time travel existed."

"Grima wasn't even alive a hundred years ago," Chrom said. "And Morgan is one of ours! She'd never… she'd…" He trailed off, and his sword slowly fell.

Sumia's words came to him: words she'd spoken hardly a week ago.

 _"There's so much we don't know, though. So many unclear details."_

"I can't possibly believe this," Chrom whispered. "I can't believe that Morgan was…" He looked up at Hubba. "She _mentioned_ Robin, a century ago?"

"Sure did." A malefic look in the old man's eye let Chrom know that Old Hubba knew _exactly_ what the Exalt was about to ask.

"So… when you met Robin… when you found him eight months ago… That didn't go the same, either, did it?"

A strong voice came from behind, echoing down the halls: "Hold, Chrom! I am here!"

Entering the room to join Chrom and Old Hubba was the Hero-King himself. Marth leveled his Falchion at Old Hubba, keeping his space from the old man.

Old Hubba didn't flinch. "Ears burnin'?" he sneered.

"I'll take things from here, Lord Chrom." Marth gave Chrom a confident smile. "Rest easy, milord."

But Chrom found no solace in Marth's entrance. Not anymore.

"Stay back," Chrom demanded, holding his Falchion aloft and moving along the wall to put space between himself, Marth, and Old Hubba.

"Chrom…?" Marth's smile fell. "D-Don't do anything rash. I am on your side."

"Are you?!" Chrom hissed. "You lied to me, Marth. You lied about Beatrice's killer."

Marth paled. He turned to Old Hubba. "…You told him?"

Hubba chuckled. "Heh! Course I did. What, didja think I'd keep yer little secret? Were ya plannin' on takin' that little tidbit to yer grave?" He shook his head. "Oh wait, you don't die. You're just another _thing."_ He gestured at Chrom. "Well, finish the story, why dontcha? Let our pal here know how you tried to kill his best friend. How you tried yer damnedest to kill Robin!"

Marth turned back to Chrom. "I'm sorry," he said. "I lied… I know. I intended to tell you the truth when we had more time…"

"I can't trust you, Marth," Chrom growled. "You lied about your death. You lied about Robin. Dammit, you lied about _Morgan!_ You've killed an alternate Morgan and couldn't be bothered to tell us!" He gripped Falchion tightly. "And you almost got _my_ Morgan killed! My tactician—my _friend!_ Why didn't you tell us about Katarina?! You KNEW who she was!"

"I promise, I can explain," Marth said, but Chrom would have none of it.

"I trusted you, Marth!" Chrom shouted. "I trusted that you, the Hero-King, my _ancestor_ , would be someone I could place my faith in! Was I wrong, Marth?" He jabbed a finger at Old Hubba, who smirked intensely. "Was he right all along? Are you just a shameless facsimile? Gods! I am _sick_ and _tired_ of being lied to!" Chrom took a step forward, but stumbled to a knee; he sat back against the wall, pale and sweaty, still gripping his sword tightly.

Marth seemed hurt. "Chrom…" His sword wavered.

"Heheheh…" Old Hubba turned away from the two wielders of Falchion and returned to his place against the wall. He sat down as well, resting his bald head against the corner again. "Well… this is going _fine._ "

Marth, now the only one on his feet, placed his attention on Old Hubba. "Not for long," he said dangerously. "You have eluded justice for a hundred years, old man. I'll rectify our mistakes at last."

"You never can," Old Hubba mused tiredly. He closed his eyes. "It don't matter what ya do to me… Yer just as guilty as I am." He opened an eye to smirk up at the Hero-King. "…I do believe you were just about ta explain how ya tried to kill Robin? Hahaha…"

Marth's jaw set, and his hand tightened around Falchion. "Be silent, Hubba."

"NO!" Old Hubba suddenly roared, sitting forward. "I do NOT take orders from you, you filthy automaton! _YOU TAKE ORDERS FROM ME!"_

"Not anymore." Marth took a step closer, aligning Falchion with the downed man's neck. "I am a master of my own fate once again."

Old Hubba leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he panted weakly. He raised a tired, peaceable hand. "…You've… You've said yer piece, Marth." He opened his eyes. "Now it's time fer me to say mine."

His hand, under his robe—it had concealed an Arcthunder tome this whole time. Marth hardly had time to inhale in surprise.

Old Hubba's fingers twitched, and a bolt of lightning arced through Marth's chest. The prince was flung off of his feet, and he slammed against the far cobblestone wall before collapsing to the floor.

Marth struggled to all fours, smoke rising from his burnt flesh. He moaned in pain.

Old Hubba reached aside for his cane, and with it, he slowly rose to his feet. The two wielders of Falchion couldn't stand to face him.

"Now ya know the truth, Chrom," Old Hubba muttered contemptuously. "Ya know all about Marth's betrayal."

* * *

"More Legion from the left!" Cordelia shouted from overhead. "Over a dozen reinforcements!"

"Crap!" Morgan muttered. "Geez… Legion is endless until we find the original Roro." She took a breath. "Okay… okay… Swords, Axebreaker! Heroes! Do we have any spare Heroes?" She shook her head. "Forget that! All Hero-class units, to our left flank! Don't let those axes touch us!"

Morgan counted in her head as she watched the Shepherd's formation shift. _Inigo and his dad… Ike and Priam, ooh, that's handy…_

"Well, it's about time!" came a voice, and Morgan turned to see Severa approaching, donned in combat gear. Severa smirked. "Here I thought you'd never admit how much you need me!"

Morgan shrugged, grinning. "Sorry, Sev! Our insecurity keeps us from telling you our true feelings!"

"Can it." Severa brushed past her to join the others on the left flank.

"That isn't the worst of it," Laurent noted, gesturing to the sky.

A quartet of pegasus knights came soaring over the trees, powerful lances in hand.

"Ugh, the Whitewings," Morgan muttered. "And Shanna."

"We have been doing fine thanks to our air support, but these newcomers will occupy our fliers," stated Laurent. "This is bad news."

"Course it's bad news," Morgan muttered. "Let's—let's move some archers over there." _But how to do that without leaving other areas of the formation unfortified?_ Morgan kicked the dirt. _Gods, this is chess on Strength Tonics._

* * *

Marth smoldered in the corner, shivering with pain. As Chrom watched him, a modicum of pity started to rise.

"Don't feel bad for him," Hubba said. "He lied to ya. He hated you from the beginning. Wanted to kill all of ya for what ya did to Bea. …I don't pretend ta be exempt from blame, of course, but _man,_ that must hurt."

Chrom propped himself up on Falchion and started to rise to his feet. "You… You didn't have to attack him," he breathed. "I thought Marth was like a son to you…"

"He _was,"_ Hubba muttered, eyeing the prone lord. "But you threw that away, didn't ya, Marth? You said I could trust you!" He knelt over Marth. "Ya told me I could _always_ trust you. Well you LIED, didn't you, 'Hero-King'? You betrayed me, just like you betrayed Chrom over there."

Marth's hands clenched, and he struggled to lift his chin to meet Old Hubba's eye. "I… I always loved you like a f-father, Hubba…" he breathed. "I wanted… I w-wanted to go back… to how things were…" He fell back down to the cobblestone floor. "But you… you weren't… w-weren't redeemable. N-Neither of us were…"

"Then you understand what I've gotta do," Hubba murmured. "I'm makin' things right, Marth. Even though you were _selfishly_ gonna kill me, I'll turn the other cheek." He reached over to dig into Marth's pocket. "I know how ta redeem us both, son. Here it is."

Old Hubba pulled his hand from Marth's pocket, Marth's card in his grasp.

"I'm gonna destroy the Einherjar," the old man whispered.

Marth's eyes widened.

"All of ya, gone… No one's ever gonna misuse 'em again." He glanced over at Chrom. "Any objections?"

"Don't do it," Chrom said suddenly.

The old man raised an eyebrow.

"They're life," Chrom urged. "Marth made mistakes. _You_ made mistakes. But nobody has to die."

"This, comin' from the guy who beheaded Eldigan not even an hour ago," Old Hubba scoffed.

"I'm sorry," Chrom said. His grip on Falchion slackened. "I'm sorry… I couldn't save him. But that was a temporary affair. This, Old Hubba—this is permanent. If you tear that card, then Marth is gone forever."

Old Hubba's eyes narrowed, assessing Chrom for a moment.

Then, he smirked.

"Have you learned, yet?" Hubba murmured.

Chrom shook his head, already knowing what Hubba was about to say. "Stop this!" He raised Falchion and, grimacing, he finally pushed away from the wall. He weakly swung the sword at the old man.

Old Hubba easily sidestepped the attack, still smug. He then put a hand on Chrom's wrist, keeping the sword down with little effort.

"Have you learned, yet?" the old man repeated. He waved Marth's card. "It ain't possible to save everyone." He pressed his palm against Chrom's wound, causing the lord to wince; his hand then crackled with arcane thunder. "An' this time, nobody's gonna be saved. No one leaves this Outrealm alive… not even me."

Chrom cried out at the tingles of Old Hubba's magic tracing along the stab wound. Old Hubba grinned widely at Chrom's agonized expression.

"Had enough?" the man murmured. "Tell me when I can let it end for you."

Chrom fell to his knees, screaming in pain.

Old Hubba's smile slowly withered away, replaced by a disdainful glare. "…It's your fault. If it weren't for you and yours, Bea would still be alive, and none o' this woulda happened. Chrom, I want you to know that I really mean this, from the bottom of my heart… _I hate you."_ He leveled his palm with the downed Exalt's head. Twitches of yellow thunder crackled from his fingers. "I don't know if there's a heaven for Einherjar… but I know for damn sure that there's a hell for you."

Chrom squeezed his eyes shut. _Why is it always lightning?_

Old Hubba clenched his jaw and concentrated.

When:

"I've gotcha!"

A whistle of motion echoed from down the hallway. Old Hubba's eyes flicked upward, and with no time for even surprise to register on his face, the javelin embedded into his shoulder and removed his feet from the earth. He slammed into the floor with a pained cry.

Footsteps. Chrom struggled to a more respectable crouch, tiredly lifting his head to gauge the situation.

Old Hubba lay flat on his back, his chest heaving with labored breaths while his hand limply grasped the lance buried in his shoulder. Standing over the old man, assessing his injuries, was an armed pegasus knight.

Chrom blinked repeatedly, disbelieving. "S-Sumia…?"

* * *

A deafening roar resounded throughout the Shepherds' camp, nearly halting all combat.

 _No,_ Morgan thought, as her heart leaped into her throat excitedly. _That's three roars._

Palla, eldest of the Whitewings, was the first victim. A massive pair of jaws came from beneath, and Nah, in dragon form, snagged the pegasus's hoof and dragged both beast and rider to the earth.

Furthermore, chaos erupted in the rear of the Einherjar army. A second Manakete let loose her holy breath onto the Einherjar formation—that could only be Nowi.

But the third was the most valuable. Tiki—shining with a pale luminosity like only she could—struck from the most opportune angle.

"I can feel your heart," she murmured to her quarry. "I can sense its rhythm… It's much faster, now. No more hiding: your time has come."

Her great fangs tore the most precious Roro asunder, and dozens of the Shepherds' opponents vanished as blue fire.

"Hell yes! _Hell_ yes!" Morgan screamed giddily. "Shepherds—kick their asses!"

* * *

"S-Sumia…?"

Sumia glanced at Chrom, and she immediately broke into a wide smile. "Captain! Are you okay?"

"What… What're you…?" Chrom's head spun. _It's only been a few days here in the Outrealms! How is she in such good shape already? …How much time has passed back home?_

Sumia drew her face into a determined pout. "Shh, no time to talk! Gotta get those injuries looked at." She turned to dig into her inventory.

Chrom took the opportunity to stand, still loosely holding Falchion. He laughed humorlessly. "Sumia… I'm… I'm glad you're here." His eyes narrowed. "…Or am I… imagining you?"

Sumia laughed. "Hahaha, no, I'm real!" She produced a staff. "Here—a Recover should do the trick, at least for now."

"W-Wait." Chrom stayed her with a hand, and gestured at the downed prince nearby. "D-Do Marth first. That bastard has… some questions to answer…"

Sumia glanced at Marth, then back at Chrom. "…'Marth'? He's not the only one with questions to answer… Anyway, Chrom, sit down. You'll just lose more blood that way."

"Right…" Chrom sat back uncomfortably.

He rested his head against the wall, trying to relax. Something nagged at him. Something from earlier. What was it?

He suddenly realized the issue. Experience. _Recent_ experience. As he glanced at Sumia, he realized it was an experience she would share.

"S-Sumia…" He tried, but it was hardly a whisper. As Sumia obliviously brushed her hair over her ear, ready to tend to Marth, Chrom's eyes widened. "Su—" he choked. "Beh… behind…"

Sumia looked at him, curious at the faint noises he was making, and saw that he was pointing. Pointing at Old Hubba.

Her eyes widened. _Oh, pegasus poop! The old man is pulling a Grima!_

While the others were distracted, the old man, playing dead, had been putting all his strength into one final action: drawing a card from his pocket.

"Eldigan," Old Hubba wheezed, pressing the card against his lips. "Come forth and… finish this."

He placed the card at his side. Crouched, Sumia slowly reached for her silver lance, watching the card curiously.

Blue fire suddenly erupted from the card, eliciting a startled yelp from Sumia. The pegasus knight stood, lance at the ready.

After a moment, the fires fell away, leaving behind a tall, blond man wearing a dark sword on his hip.

 _He has the Mystletainn still…?_ Chrom thought hazily. _Did he have it in his hand when I killed him, and it went with him…? Ugh, I don't even know how that works… Well… regardless, it's bad news…_

"S-Sumia," Chrom coughed. "He's… Eldigan… myth… Don't hold back…"

Sumia frowned. "Eldigan? Isn't he…?"

"Who are you?" were Eldigan's first words, delivered as a demand.

Sumia was briefly taken aback, but then collected herself and glared at him. "W-Well, I could ask you the same question, sir! Where did you come from?"

Eldigan scoffed. _What a ridiculous ques…tion… Hm, where DID I come from? …Questions for later._ "You are trespassing, madam. Leave, and take your allies with you."

Sumia put her hands on her hips. "And _how_ am I supposed to do that, hm? In case you haven't noticed, sir, they're really hurt! Let me heal them, and _then_ we can talk." She turned away in a huff.

Eldigan blinked, surprised. "I… I suppose I can't argue with that. However… I have a sneaking suspicion that you are my enemy, and we should not even be having this conversation."

"That's… just Einherjar talk," Chrom mumbled.

Eldigan's gaze snapped to Chrom. "What?"

Chrom shook his head, laughing weakly. "N-Nothing…" _Sumia, you wonderful girl._

"I'm sure you can wait, big guy," said Sumia to Eldigan, and she knelt over Marth, her staff taking action.

The claustrophobic interior of the Gallian fort maintained a brief, awkward silence.

"Mm, this is a real doozy," Sumia murmured, inspecting Marth's injury. "My money's on thunder magic, though I'm no expert…" She glanced at Chrom. "We need _actual_ healers, Captain. I can't do this on my own."

"Well… we have plenty of those," Chrom chuckled. He wiped his nose of blood.

Old Hubba suddenly broke his silence with a coughing fit. "Eld… Eldigan…" he breathed.

"Sir?"

"What're you waitin' for…? I was out for five minutes… I thought they'd be dead by now…"

Eldigan blinked. "I gave them a warning to leave, sir. Once their wounded are fit to move, they will be on their way."

"What?!" Old Hubba weakly hit Eldigan's ankle—the only part of Eldigan he could reach. "You… moron! Just… kill 'em!"

"Oh!" said Eldigan, surprised. "I see. Right now, then?"

"For gods' sake, _yes! Now!"_

"Very well." Eldigan drew the Mystletainn. "Milady! It seems a decision has been made. We fight, now."

Sumia sighed impatiently. "NOW?"

"Yes, now."

"Ugh." Sumia stood, reaching for her lance once again. "Honestly, Mr. Eldigan, you're irritating. Here I am, just trying to save my friends, and you want to _kill_ us? How unsportsmanlike!"

"Unsportsmanlike…?" Eldigan's pride flared. "Are you implying that my actions are less than knightly?"

"Well, yeah!" Sumia said, brushing her hair over her ear. "I don't want to fight you at all, and you're all "oh, better listen to this old dying guy!" Doesn't it seem fishy to you that you're being told to kill us, the nice people with terrible, terrible injuries, by a creepy old man?"

"Creepy?" Old Hubba muttered, dejected.

Eldigan hesitated. "I…"

"I'll fight you if you want," Sumia said, hefting her lance, "but honestly, can't we both just save ourselves some time and effort, and just let bygones be bygones?"

"Bygones be bygones…?"

Their quarrel kept on. Chrom shook his head as the two bantered. _This is the stupidest…_

He started to fade in and out of consciousness as Eldigan and Sumia continued to argue.

"…is outside my control, milady. I can't simply…"

"…ose orders even matter? You don't even know why you're doing this…"

"…relevant! I would be throwing away my pride… vanquished, by words…?"

"…Honestly, Mr. Eldigan, you're coming off as a terrible judge of character…!"

Until, after many minutes of loud bickering:

"Fine!" Eldigan shouted. "Fine, you win! You win. I surrender. I shall not fight you."

Sumia beamed. "YES! Woohoo! I _knew_ you'd come around, big guy!"

 _I don't believe this,_ Chrom thought.

Old Hubba closed his eyes, rumbling with a small groan.

"Shit."

* * *

"Hoo!" Donnel grinned from ear to ear, dusting off his hands as he surveyed the quieting battlefield. "We sure gave 'em what-for, huh?"

Inigo chuckled. "Seems so, Father. High five?"

"High five."

The swordsmen high-fived, of course.

"We should really see if the others need us, however," Inigo said. "There may be stragglers yet."

"Uh-huh." They started toward the other side of the formation.

Donnel placed a hand on Inigo's shoulder as they walked. "Son, I've gotta say, you've been makin' me proud lately. Yer fightin' is a sight ta see!"

"I'm just glad to carry on the tradition," Inigo replied sheepishly. "You're such a natural, I—"

"INIGO, WATCH OUT!"

A heavy weight impacted in Inigo's chest, and he felt himself rush backwards into the dirt. The breath left his lungs.

Blinking, and raising a hand to shield his eyes, he found his assailant (maybe?) as a bright, white pegasus; its rider stood nearby, leaning against a lance.

"Whew!" Cynthia said, grinning widely. She offered a hand to help Inigo up. "That was a close one! Good thing I saved you."

"Mmph…" Inigo groaned as he regained his feet, rubbing his smarting head. "Geez, Cynthia, your pegasus isn't light." He looked around, confused. His father's expression was as dumbfounded as his own, further perplexing Inigo. "Saved me from what?"

"Hm?" Cynthia didn't meet his eye. Both of her hands grasped the lance, as she wriggled on her toes. "From, uh… a straggler. No, an arrow! There was an arrow, but I knocked you down, so you're safe now."

"Really?" Inigo crossed his arms, grinning. "So, we should really take care of that archer, huh?" He glanced over Cynthia's shoulder. "Come to think of it, I don't believe I see any archers."

"I took him out, is why," said Cynthia hastily.

 _"Really?_ And you STILL had time to come save me from the arrow? I must say, that's almost _impossibly_ fast."

"Y-Yeah, I'm pretty great," Cynthia laughed nervously. "Anyway, uh… Sorry about earlier."

Inigo's face fell. "…Oh."

"Yeah." Cynthia's eyes flicked toward Donnel, then at the ground.

A grin grew on Donnel's face. "…Say, Inigo. Come ta think of it, I should prolly check on yer mother. Cynthia, wouldja mind keepin' yer eye on my son for a minute?"

"Uh—S-Sure."

Still grinning, Donnel let the two be.

Cynthia still leaned on her lance. She stood on one foot, twisting the other one into the ground anxiously.

She chuckled quietly. "Heh… I guess I was pretty mean earlier, huh?"

"You had good reason," Inigo admitted quickly. "It's my fault for, uh… pressing. I mean, yesterday, you made yourself pretty clear, right…? When, uh… I tried to kiss you, and…"

Cynthia blushed, still not meeting his eye. "Uh-huh."

An awkward silence.

"So uh, I should go, then," Inigo stammered. "…Later?"

"Later," Cynthia said, nodding. She bit her lip. "Um—w-wait. Olive branch."

Inigo hesitated. "Olive branch? What do you—?"

Cynthia closed the short gap and placed a quick peck on his cheek. Color instantly rushed to Inigo's face.

Cynthia then retreated back to her supportive lance. "Um… now we're even. For… for me yelling at you. And hitting you." She gripped her lance and hurried over to her pegasus.

In seconds, the beast had taken off, leaving Inigo alone.

Inigo blinked. "Huh. So… _this_ is what it's supposed to feel like."

* * *

Morgan and Laurent noticed the pegasus alighting nearby. Morgan grinned. "Ayy, Cynthia! How's it going?"

Cynthia dismounted, feeling a hot blush in her expression. _I hope Morgan assumes it's only—_

"Man, you're red," Morgan said, surprised. "Worked up a sweat, huh?"

 _…Only that. Yes, that._ Cynthia forced a smile. "Y-Yep. You guys too, probably."

Morgan nudged Laurent with her elbow. "Not like it takes any effort to get _Laurent_ here to work up a sweat."

Laurent's eyes narrowed. "…Are you implying I am out of shape?"

"Well, it's not much of an implication if you explain the joke, huh?" Morgan muttered. "Anyway! I haven't taken a headcount yet, but so far it's looking like we've got no casualties. We even took a few of the Einherjar prisoner." She grinned mischievously. "Cynthiaaa… You know what this means."

Cynthia grinned similarly. "Oh, you bet I do. Action-hero-plan-success high-five?"

"Action-hero-plan-success high-five!"

Cynthia and Morgan high-fived.

"Man, it's been too long!" Morgan said. "Makes me feel so _alive!"_

Laurent adjusted his glasses judgmentally.

"Anyway…" Morgan grew more somber. "There were so many we couldn't save. Tons of Einherjar…"

Cynthia's eyes narrowed. "You aren't… blaming yourself, are you?"

Morgan sighed. "I shouldn't, right? …I mean, it's not like Dad could save everyone all the time. He had to kill a LOT. Right?"

"You act as if you were not present then," Laurent said. "You have killed before, Morgan. It's possible you'll have to do it again."

"Yeah, yeah…" Morgan ran a hand through her hair. "…I'll never like it, though."

"Of course. That seems to be the most logical retort." Laurent sighed. "There are always times when we must—"

Laurent's moral was interrupted by a call from overhead. Circling on her wyvern, Cherche shouted: "One more Einherjar to the west, from the foliage! Orders, Morgan?"

Morgan frowned. "Who is it?"

* * *

He was unarmed. Or, his sword was sheathed, rather. The black Mystletainn sat, untouched, on the Lionheart's hip.

Eldigan's expression was grim. "I was told to retrieve healers, as well as Ladies Cynthia and Morgan."

"By whom?" Laurent asked warily.

"By your Lord Chrom," he said. "He and Prince Marth are gravely wounded."

Cynthia and Morgan exchanged a glance. Morgan crossed her arms. "…And what about Old Hubba?" she asked. "You were under _his_ command last I saw."

"I _was,_ but I…" Eldigan sighed, embarrassed. "…I would prefer not to go into detail. You may bring as many fighters as you wish if it grants you peace of mind, but _please,_ your allies DO require your aid." He gestured at the woods, indicating the fort beyond.

Morgan turned to Cynthia. "What do you think?"

"I dunno," Cynthia said, scratching her head. "Old Hubba's a sneaky little buttmunch, but he's not all that smart. I don't think we'd need more than just the two of us and some healers."

"Yeah," Morgan said, nodding. "Good plan." She circled her hands around her mouth and bellowed, "Cherche! Get me a headcount, wouldja? And get Cordelia started on drafting me an after-action report!"

As Cherche flew off to fulfill Morgan's order, Cynthia nudged her sister. "Seriously?"

Morgan shrugged sheepishly. "What? Those dang reports are no fun."

* * *

The halls were musty and cramped and miserable. This fort seemed to possess the uncanny ability of draining away all of Morgan's hype about Gallia.

"It was totally the Annas," said Morgan.

"Nah," Cynthia muttered.

The two healers trailing behind Morgan and Cynthia exchanged a glance. "What're you talking about?" Lissa asked.

Morgan glanced over her shoulder. "Hm? Oh, nothing. Me and Cynthia have a bet going on."

"Really?" Maribelle asked. "What about?"

Morgan laughed. "Well, we both thought that Chrom would probably have trouble with Old Hubba, and somebody would swoop in last-minute to help him."

"I bet on Marth," said Cynthia. "I mean, who else? I can't have been wrong, since the big guy said he's here." She jabbed a thumb at the blond man leading the way.

"And _I_ said it was the Annas," Morgan added. "I figured, Marth would show up, Hubba'd whip out Eldigan, Marth would get his butt kicked, and, ooh ahh, an Anna shows up at the last second and solves all our problems!"

"Ah—" Eldigan began, but Morgan shushed him with "No spoilers!"

"You're overestimating how great the Annas are," Cynthia sighed. "When have they _ever_ showed up when we needed them? I mean, c'mon. They could've warned us about Hubba _any time_ in the last three days. But they didn't, did they?"

Morgan still grinned, ignoring her sister. "And this Anna that appeared—she's here to explain everything! Ooh, ahh!"

Lissa and Maribelle giggled softly.

* * *

"…Seriously?" Chrom mumbled. "It's only been…?"

"Yup!" Sumia said brightly. "So no worries, huh?"

"I guess," Chrom said, "but that doesn't explain how…"

He trailed off as he heard a voice echoing from down the hall.

"Yeah, they can't fool me," Morgan was boasting as she turned the corner. "I've got the Annas all… all…"

Eldigan turned around to face his entourage. "We've arrived."

Old Hubba was resting in the corner, breathing weakly, his hand limply resting on a large red stain near his shoulder. A nearby javelin, bloodied at the tip, gave away the "why."

Marth and Chrom were both leaning up against a wall, beaten and battered; Marth didn't appear to be conscious. Their temporary caretaker halted her staff, and she stood and turned, smiling nervously at the newcomers.

"S-Sumia?" Lissa murmured, surprised. Maribelle then tugged on her friend's sleeve, reminding Lissa of the moment. "Right…"

Maribelle and Lissa brushed past Morgan, Cynthia, and Sumia, to begin their work on the two wounded lords.

Meanwhile, the reunited family was frozen. Cynthia and Morgan both wore identical expressions of shock.

Cynthia was the first to crack: a sniff. Morgan next, with a handful of tears.

Then, as one, they both gave in and rushed into their mother's arms.

Sumia wrapped her arms around her children, losing the battle to tears herself.

"You're back!" Cynthia sobbed, burying her face in Sumia's shoulder.

Morgan was barely intelligible. "I m-m-missed you s-so much, Mom!"

"I'm here now," Sumia whispered soothingly, brushing her fingers through her daughters' hair. She hugged them close. "I'm not going anywhere."

…Old Hubba rolled his eyes.

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 13 – **R &R**_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _I think the most important words of this series are a few that Sumia said in the epilogue of_ Dissonance _,_ _the ones that Chrom thought of:_

"There's so much we don't know, though. So many unclear details."

 _Such is Fire Emblem Awakening. But that's what I'm here for: to give some explanations, and, more importantly, to further obfuscate even more. After all, if "unclear details" is Awakening's M.O., then who am I to bastardize the source material by clearing everything up?_

 _Take time travel, for instance. You thought that was pretty simple, didn't you? Heh. Heheh. Heheheheheh._

 _(The second-most-important words, we can all agree, are:_ "Do you think being inappropriate is funny? Because… it is. But it's still inappropriate!")


	13. R&R

Chapter 13: **R &R**

* * *

Ylisstol was a cold gray.

Nothing but clouds and rain since the Exalt had departed—gone from the world, as of this morning. The weather was calm for the moment, but storm clouds still hung over the city.

Deep bags adorned Sumia's eyes as she sat on her balcony, watching the bustling city below with disdain.

Sumia knew pain. She knew. Losing him once, yes, that was enough… yet Fate had decided to play her for a fool, tease her, and pull the carrot away a second time. "Neigh, Sumia. Neigh!"

Sumia placed her cheek atop her uninjured right hand. It hurt. It all hurt. It never stopped, not even for a moment.

Sleep? Ha. Sleep is for the strong.

She caught a glimpse of movement to the south. Pegasi—Ylisstol's guardians, out drilling.

 _Training new recruits,_ she recalled. _Mm. More than usual, today._

A brief knock at the door, accompanied by the predictable "Milady?"

Though met with no response, the door creaked open anyway. A maid peeked in. "Lady Sumia, more bandages…"

Sumia didn't move. Her eyes were fixated on the flying beasts outside the city walls.

"My lady…?"

"Thank you," Sumia stated. Her voice was a dry rasp. "That'll be all."

The maid hesitated. Concerned? Perhaps. "Your bath has also been drawn, Lady Sumia. There is a clean dress, as well as fresh casts to change into afterwards…"

"That'll be all."

More hesitation. This time, the maid departed silently.

The pegasi continued to fly, free.

* * *

Sumia screamed at the harsh touch of the bathwater. Maids arrived to assist her.

She required their aid to get dressed afterward, as well.

She required their aid for everything.

* * *

No position was comfortable. Twist this way, and the comforter brushes her scratches the wrong way; angle that way, and her crippled leg lights on fire.

Sumia eventually lay still. The pain never left, _would_ never leave, but perhaps she'd eventually get used to it if she just… lay… still.

Moonlight streamed through her window. She could spy the roofs of the nearby buildings from her vantage point, but little else.

She imagined the pegasi, still dancing in the skies.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn't prevent the tears.

They hurt, too.

* * *

Second day.

Well into the afternoon, Sumia continued to lie in bed. Servants had arrived out of worry, but she had politely sent them away. Not like she was missing anything.

She simply toyed with her hair, grasping it between her fingers.

Dull brown.

Sumia squinted, analyzing the hair, trying to determine if it had ever had color. If _anything_ had ever had color. Perhaps it had all been an illusion.

She turned to the breakfast her assistants had placed at her bedside hours ago. On the _right_ side of her bed, how considerate; had it been on her left, she would have ignored it, deemed it impossible to reach.

She loosely reached for the lukewarm plate with her functional arm and dug into the cold eggs.

It was only fitting; they tasted like they looked.

Gray.

* * *

Was it… blue?

Sumia limped through the castle, always with a servant nearby to catch her if she fell. "You must walk," they had said. "You must try, or you'll never get better."

But all Sumia could think was… "What was the color of Chrom's hair?"

She remembered _his_. Easy. Silver. Shade of gray, like everything else. But Chrom's was impossible.

She thought it was blue. She reflexively resorted to that color, but she couldn't remember what blue looked like.

All food tasted the same. All people spoke the same. All things looked the same.

It all certainly hurt the same.

She stumbled; when a servant moved to help her, she refused. Her legs wobbled as she tried to pick herself up.

However, they quickly failed her, and she collapsed fully. She lay still on the cold tile.

She didn't resist when the servant helped her back up. This was far from the first time she'd proven herself unable to perform the task.

It hurt as much as before, but she hadn't the drive to contort her facial expression into a pained one. A constant, neutral stare. Sumia wondered if the servants thought she couldn't feel any of it.

 _Heh._

 _Heheheh._

* * *

"Green…?"

The young pegasus knight smiled brightly; she trailed two fingers through her short hair. Most of her followers were smiling as well. "Mm-hm! My mom had green hair, too. And my mom's mom. It's kind of a tradition, haha!"

"Mm." Sumia entertained the thought of smiling. After all, these visitors all were.

Hm… Too much effort. No.

She glanced aside at the roses they had brought. _'Get well soon!'_ The card was huge—the vase's most notable feature.

Sumia tilted her head, analyzing the roses. "Red…" Her lips formed the word, without making the sound. Intuition told her that the rose was supposed to be red. Furthermore, weren't roses supposed to have a scent?

"Anyway," the recruit continued, "we just wanted you to know that you're always in our thoughts, Lady Sumia. We all really hope you get well soon."

Sumia's gaze slowly drifted over to the trainees. She watched them all, silent.

They itched uncomfortably under her mute gaze.

* * *

 _That about rounds it out._ No color. No taste. No smell. Truly, the only sense she could rely on was whatever it was constantly burning at her skin. Whatever it was that punished her for twitching her broken arm an inch out of alignment. Whatever it was that refused her the comfort of walking unaided. Whatever it was that ached in her chest. Hm, but that wasn't even the same kind of ache, now was it…

…Sumia could only wonder, how long before even that is gone?

* * *

"How do you feel?"

Sumia's eyes were shut. Yes, the bath hurt. It could've been worse.

The maid interpreted Sumia's silence as… well, Sumia didn't care what the maid interpreted it as. But the maid was quiet, waiting, allowing Sumia to relax in the water.

 _How do I feel? …I don't._

Sumia hugged her broken arm to her stomach. The tepid water that was supposed to be hot lapped at her skin.

"Mm."

The maid took interest in Sumia's noise—the first one she had made since immersing herself in the water. "Yes, milady?"

Sumia's brown eyes slowly opened, and she turned her head to watch the maid. "Describe to me… what this room looks like."

The maid hesitated. _Wonder what she makes of that question,_ Sumia thought, almost on the verge of a dour chuckle.

"W-Well…" The maid's eyes scanned the room. "I smell the candles… I smell soap? And… It's all very simple, I guess. It's only a bathroom, so…"

"Colorless?"

The maid frowned. "I—I suppose. Though, the candles paint everything a rather warm orange…"

"I see," Sumia lied. "…Thank you."

She closed her eyes.

* * *

 _His hair… is silver._

 _Morgan's hair… is mine._

 _Cynthia's hair… is his._

Her fingers tightened, grasping handfuls of bedsheet.

 _All so colorless… I suppose it's only fitting. The one thing I'd pass down to Morgan is my plain hair color… And nothing to Cynthia._

Tears traced savage paths down her cheek.

"Cynthia," she whispered to the darkness, with quivering lips. "Cynthia… C-Cynthia…"

She trembled.

* * *

Third day.

Quiet.

Of course.

Always quiet here in Ylisstol.

Sumia sat outside in the gardens. The wind irritated her skin, but she preferred it that way, because she was desperate—desperate! Anything, oh gods, anything, please— _desperate_ to cling to anything she could still feel.

Before, she had subsisted on vulneraries. Painkillers. Numbed the pain, allowed her to walk for short bouts. She had been prohibited from them after seeing Chrom off, for fear of addiction. She used to miss them. Not anymore.

This was the south side of the castle. If she strained her ears, she could hear shouts. Training, of course. The knights of the sky.

Those who still had their wings.

* * *

"Hey there, girl."

When Sumia stroked her pegasus's snout, it nudged her other arm's cast.

"I hope you've been okay," Sumia said weakly, smiling. "I hope you haven't just been cooped up in this stable, and that they've let you fly, free… You've done nothing wrong, of course. You don't deserve the same prison I'm in…"

Sumia wrapped her arm around the beast's neck in a hug. "Oh, I've missed you… I hope you've missed me, too."

Her mount draped its head over Sumia's shoulder, as if reciprocating.

Sumia nestled her face into its mane, and she lost her inhibitions, weeping loudly.

She and her pegasus held the embrace for a long time.

* * *

Sumia stumbled on the last step, steadying herself on the doorknob. Like all the other times, she dismissed her servant and entered her room alone.

Her attention was immediately caught by the sole light in the dim evening room. Candles were already lit in her bathroom, and as she peered in, she noticed that the bath was already drawn.

 _Guess my schedule's predictable if they've already got that set up,_ she thought mutedly. She limped toward the bathroom, disrobing.

* * *

She eased herself into the tub. The water hurt, as usual, but this was no different. She lay back in the water, closing her eyes and losing herself. She would wait as long as she had to, she figured, for someone to arrive to help her change…

Her eyes suddenly shot open, and her face contorted into a look of surprise. Sharp, stinging pains fired through her body, from toes to shoulders, as far as she was submerged; she started to extract herself from the hurtful waters.

"Whoa whoa, hold up! That oughta pass in just a second."

Sumia hesitated, looking around in search of the voice—but she quickly halted the endeavor, as the movement only succeeded in eliciting more pain. Reluctantly, she submerged herself in the water again, wincing.

However, true to the mystery voice's word, the shooting pains gradually subsided, and Sumia was nearly able to relax.

'Nearly,' since she still did not know the origin of that voice, and she could hear movement coming from her bedroom.

Sumia hugged her knees to her chest, watching the door anxiously.

"Man!" A shadow moved to the doorway, face full of food. "Did you know someone sent you _muffins?_ These are awesome!"

Sumia's lips parted.

Blue…

 _His_ blue.

She was chewing on the muffin as she entered the room, dragging a chair behind her. She placed the chair next to the bath, sat down, and crossed her legs as she leaned back to watch Sumia. The woman brushed her indigo ponytail to rest on her shoulder.

Sumia became very aware of the fact that she was naked in the presence of a stranger. "U-Um—"

The woman smirked through her full mouth. "Hmhmhm. Don't worry, I won't stare."

Sumia furrowed her eyebrows. "You… Are you…?" She paused. "You look like an Anna…"

The Anna swallowed. "Bingo! Good eye, Sumia. Though, to be entirely honest, I haven't gone by that in a long time."

"Then… what should I call you?"

Anna tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… Well, my children call me Mother, but that wouldn't do here. After all, you aren't my daughter!" She giggled, having amused herself.

"You're the Annas' mother…?" _That sounds important…_ Sumia looked down at herself, embarrassed. _Why couldn't this be a bubble bath?_

"Anyone I know _not named Anna_ calls me Blue," Anna continued, "so, Blue. Nice to see you again, Sumia! My name's Blue. I'd offer a hand to shake, but, eh…"

"Again?" Sumia asked. This Anna may have claimed to be the other Annas' mother, but she held their same youthful appearance. "We've met? I-I mean, I'm sorry, but except for your hair, you Annas all—"

"Calm down there, _racist._ You've never met me before." Blue grinned. "But I've met you. Oh, I've met a hundred other Sumias. We've rarely ever gotten to speak face-to-face like this, but it's really always a pleasure whenever we do."

"…I see." _Timeline nonsense. Of course._ Sumia looked down at her knees. "What do you want, Blue? If you're looking for Chrom, he's gone…"

"Into the Outrealms, yeah," said Blue. "No, I'm not here for him. I'm here for _you,_ Sumia. How are you?"

Sumia glanced up at Blue skeptically, and was surprised to see the Anna wearing a straight face. Blue had even set the muffin aside.

"Seriously," Blue stated. "Tell me how you're feeling."

"You… don't care." Sumia looked away. "Annas never take things seriously. Always money with you… Money and smugness." She shot Blue an irate glare. "You cornered me in the bathtub just so you could embarrass me while I'm naked."

Blue sighed, remaining silent. Sumia looked away again.

"Sumia…" Blue murmured, "I may be an Anna, but I'm also a mother. I know when my children are hurting, and I want to help them."

Sumia frowned. "So… what, I'm your child, now?" She scoffed. "I forgot to add 'condescending' to that list."

"Wow," said Blue softly. "You must be in a _lot_ of pain. …Three days, right? Three days since the Shepherds left?"

Sumia tensed.

"That's a lot of time alone. A lot of time to suffer. That's the sort of thing that dilutes your sense of reality." Blue uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "You miss him, don't you?"

"O-Of course I do," Sumia muttered. "I've missed him for months…"

Blue smirked. Sumia, looking away, didn't see. "…Yeah. Him."

There was a quiet pause.

"Blue…"

Blue tilted her head. "Yeah?"

"No, no… _blue."_ Sumia's eyes turned to Blue's hair. "I forgot what it looked like." Her hands squeezed into fists. "I couldn't… remember…"

Realizing her place, Sumia sniffed, quickly wiping her eyes. "I-I'm sorry, I…"

"No, no, it's okay!" said Blue, smiling genuinely. "Please, let it out. I want you to feel better."

"I really, really don't want to cry," Sumia murmured. "It hurts to cry…"

"Does it hurt right now?" Blue asked, tilting her head and smiling coyly.

"I—I'm not—" Sumia hesitated, looking down at herself. "N-No… It doesn't." The answer suddenly clicked in her head, and her eyes snapped onto Blue. "What is this? What is this water?"

"Hahaha!" Blue threw her head back in laughter, rubbing her hands together excitedly. "The sleuthing! My dear, that water is an Anna invention. 'Bath Elixir,' I like to call it. Patent pending."

"Elixir… Healing water?" Sumia frowned. "How…?"

"Oh, you leave those little details to me," Blue said cheerfully. "How's the arm?"

"It's…" Sumia tried moving it; it resisted her, but not nearly as much as usual.

Blue's face fell a little bit. "…Ah, I guess that'll take a couple hours."

"A couple _hours?!"_ Sumia exclaimed. "I—I could—this—I—"

Blue giggled. "Yep yep yep! The plan is to have you back in action by tomorrow morning. What do you think?"

"Back in action?" Sumia looked down at her arm. "You mean…"

Blue smirked. "Sumia, dear, you know I love you. But you know what I love more?"

Sumia sighed. "Money?"

"No! Heavens, no. I have all the money I could ever need! I leave all the golding to my daughters."

"Golding isn't a—"

"What I love more," Blue interrupted, wearing a wide grin, "is _control._ Ohoho boy, there's nothing I hate more than spanners in my works! …Okay, now that I say that out loud, that sounds lewd, so let's move on."

Sumia furrowed her eyebrows. "Control?"

"Yeah! As you've made abundantly clear, I'm an Anna, so I can't POSSIBLY have just done this for you out of the goodness of my heart." Blue winked teasingly. "Right now, the Einherjar War has gone entirely according to plan. But you're my most valuable chess piece, Sumia. My _queen—_ as in chess, no pun intended."

"What pun—?"

"You're my trump card, Sumia, and the time has just about come for me to play you." Blue's smirk widened deviously. "Tomorrow, Chrom will need your help. And thanks to me, you'll be there to give it. Are you in, Sumia?"

Sumia wiggled her toes: flexed her crippled leg nearly effortlessly. Unbelievable. Unbelievable. Just… just…

"Yes," Sumia breathed. "Yes, of course I am…"

Blue placed her hand over her heart, relieved. "Thank goodness! That Bath Elixir is _not_ cheap."

"I owe you so much!" Sumia exclaimed. "Y-You have no idea what this means to me. How—How could I possibly repay you?!"

Laughing, Blue waved it off. "Oh, stop it, you! There's nothing you need to do right now. However!" She put up a finger. "This sure as heck won't be the last time we'll meet. It may be way down the road, but I _know_ I'll need your help again. Maybe that'll make us even." She waved it away, leaning back. "But enough about that! We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I see." Sumia wiggled her toes, unable to fight a small smile. She practically shivered with glee.

 _Orange,_ she realized. _The candlelight… It's orange._

"Welp…" Blue twiddled her thumbs, looking around. "I've got some hours to kill while we wait on that bath to take effect, I guess. Got any books?"

"Er—yes," Sumia said. "After Robin returned… the fake Robin… I started reading one. Haven't touched it since the battle, but…"

"Neat! What is it? I'll read it to you while we wait!"

Sumia bit her lip, blushing slightly. "Um—um—no, that's not really—I mean, I don't know if you'd care for it."

Blue lit up, beaming from ear to ear. "Oh, _please_ tell me it's erotica."

"It's…" Sumia hung her head. "It's erotica."

"YES!" Blue leapt to her feet and dashed to the other room. "Where? Where is it?!"

* * *

"Blue didn't answer many questions, but I owe her everything," said Sumia, her arms crossed. "She… gave me hope, when…"

She fell quiet, as with the rest of the Gallian fort.

Chrom was on his feet now, bloody but no longer bleeding; he still required the wall's help to keep his feet, and Maribelle was reapplying his stitches for the umpteenth time. Marth lay unconscious nearby, with Lissa as his steward, and Old Hubba was motionless in the corner.

Cynthia hung onto Sumia's every word. Morgan literally hung onto Sumia.

"I was under the impression that there was some sort of time dilation in the Outrealms," Chrom replied. "But, the way you've described it, time here flows one-to-one with Ylisse…"

Lissa laughed as she worked. "Yeah, guess I worried for nothin'! I thought we'd missed _months._ " She glanced up at Chrom. "Could you imagine? What if we'd gotten home, and little baby Lucina was as old as the one from the future?"

Chrom's expression hardened. Maribelle reprimanded Lissa with a pinch on the arm.

Sumia smiled wanly. "Yeah… I mean, if I'd had to wait months to recover… I don't think I would've made it."

Chrom frowned. "What do you mean? Your injuries weren't—" He bit his tongue as he caught her meaning. "…Oh. Gods, Sumia, I…"

"It's okay, Chrom. It's okay." She turned to her children. "I'm here now."

"I-I guess you'll need a recap, huh?" Morgan said. She nestled her cheek on her mother's greaves. "You've missed a lot."

"I bet! For starters…" Sumia pointed at Marth. "What the heck?"

* * *

There was only so much Chrom could say. Explain the nature of Einherjar, sure… tell Sumia of Old Hubba and his malicious designs, okay.

But where to _begin_ on the rest?

Doubts had now been cast on all of Marth's story. He'd exaggerated, _lied_ — how much of the rest of it must also be fiction if Marth had fabricated such pivotal moments of the story?

So Chrom left out the story of Marth's betrayal, and silently indicated for Morgan to do the same. _Not until we have the truth._ Though confused, she had complied without question.

Chrom found his eyes focusing on Morgan several times during their exposition. Her bright smile, her cheerful optimism. The elephant in the room.

How could he possibly tell her?

* * *

With Sumia caught up, it was back to camp to lick their wounds. More Shepherds had arrived at the fort to help, and Old Hubba and Marth were placed atop stretchers. Sumia asked that Chrom use one as well, but, of course, the Exalt declined the offer.

"Morgan," Sumia sighed, "If I'm gonna carry this stretcher, I'll need to walk."

Morgan frowned. "So?"

"So please _let go of my leg."_

"Sheesh, fine…"

Sumia smiled as Morgan unenthusiastically pried herself away. "Thanks, sweetie. Would you mind helping out Chrom?"

"Okay…"

Reluctantly, Morgan left her mother behind and approached Chrom. He nodded in greeting, and accepted her aid as she looped his arm over her shoulder and helped him walk.

"I'm assuming it went well?" Chrom asked.

Morgan shrugged. "There's no after-action report ready yet, so I don't have casualty numbers or anything, but it's looking like another flawless victory."

Chrom smiled widely. "Gods, Morgan, you've done it again." He glanced aside at her. "I'm proud of you."

She laughed. "Th-Thanks, Captain. That means a lot." Her eyes twinkled up at him.

Chrom's face suddenly paled as he realized how close he was to her. "Oh, no. Please don't." He tried to put a little bit of space between him and his tactician—not easy to do while using her as a crutch. "Don't you think the 'you have a thing for me' jokes are getting a bit old?"

Morgan averted her eyes. "Yeah."

Chrom blinked, surprised. "What? Are you serious?"

When Morgan turned back to Chrom, he could see the sincerity in her expression. She was trying to maintain her usual cheer, but her smile waned a little bit.

She shrugged. "Well, it… I dunno. It just feels… wrong, y'know? It's like—it's—gross."

"So we're finally on the same page, then?"

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Geez, let me down easy, why dontcha?"

Chrom chuckled, and so did Morgan. It took a brief moment for them to settle down.

"So," said Chrom at last. "We now have all one hundred of the Einherjar."

"I guess technically not, since a handful are still under Beatrice's control," Morgan pointed out. "But, functionally, yeah. We're done."

Chrom frowned as he remembered what Old Hubba had said earlier: _"That's not even countin' all the other ones…"_

"Yeah," he murmured uncertainly. "…So now we've _actually_ won. We can finally move on."

"Here's hoping," Morgan sighed. "With our luck, some new _thing_ is probably gonna come up soon."

"Here's hoping," Chrom agreed.

They briefly walked in silence.

It wasn't long before Chrom was able to spy a light at the end of the musty corridors. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Sumia, Cynthia, and the others were a good distance behind, slowed by their weights.

"So," Morgan began quietly. "What're we going to do with the Einherjar?"

"I don't know." Chrom turned his eyes forward again, toward the exit. "We'll obviously keep them with us. I want to awaken them all and bring them into the loop. Would that cause any logistical problems?"

Morgan scratched her head with her free hand. "Hmm… I recall Marth saying that Einherjar don't have to sleep, but they seem to be _able_ to. I have no idea if they need to eat or not. Regardless, there would be housing issues…" She shrugged. "I'll ask Seliph, I guess."

"All right."

Another silence reigned. The pair soon stepped out of the fort and continued their stroll back to camp. Chrom sighed at the touch of warm sun on his skin; the morning breeze was divine.

"Do we do ranks?" Morgan asked suddenly.

Chrom blinked. "What?"

"Like, ranks. Sergeant, Corporal, whatever. Ranks."

"Uh… No, not really. The Shepherds aren't like that."

"That's a bummer. I was gonna suggest we promote all the Manaketes."

Chrom tilted his head curiously. "Why?"

"They went… _really_ above and beyond the call today," said Morgan, smiling wistfully. "Even with the whole Outrealm Sickness deal, they still jumped in when we really needed them."

"Even Tiki?"

 _"Especially_ Tiki."

Chrom's eyebrows raised. "Wow. Yeah, we should… I don't know, give them a medal or something. There's got to be a kind of Ylissean Medal of Honor I could award them."

"They already have those from the war." Morgan glanced up at Chrom. "Remember? All the Shepherds got that after we beat Grima."

"Oh." Chrom suddenly grinned. "Then I'll have to make one up, I guess."

"Spoken like a true Exalt."

They both laughed.

Chrom's was cut short when he disturbed the wound in his hip, and he stumbled with a pained hiss. Morgan caught him, and she assisted his return to his feet.

They continued walking, and soon were in the woods.

"The Manaketes are all in the medical tent right now," Morgan resumed. "We're keeping a close eye on them, making sure they're still all right."

She looked away, remembering Talys. The ferality in Nah's eyes. The way she didn't even seem to recognize Morgan for a moment.

"You know… in case of Outrealm Sickness doing something nasty."

Chrom nodded. "…I think I found our 'thing'."

"What? Chrom, mind your innuendos."

Chrom rolled his eyes. "No, the _thing._ The something that comes up, keeping us from searching for Robin."

"Oh." Morgan's spirits fell. "Outrealm Sickness. Right."

It had been bugging Chrom for a while, but only now could he put his finger on what "it" even was. Two days ago, when the party had gone to the Jungby plains to fight Sigurd, the thought hadn't crossed his mind that the other Chrom had passed through the Gate as well—seemingly with no trouble.

"The alternate Shepherds didn't seem to be affected by it," Chrom said. "If we can get in touch with them somehow, maybe they could tell us how they worked around it."

"Okay, but how are we even supposed to find them?" Morgan asked. "Gods know which parallel timeline is theirs. And that's assuming they aren't somewhere in the Outrealms instead."

"We'll ask the Annas. They've got people everywhere."

Morgan gave him a sideways look. "Is that your answer to everything? The Annas? Cynthia was right about them; this 'Blue' person notwithstanding, they _are_ inconsistent and unhelpful."

"But they're all we have."

Morgan sighed. "Yeah."

They broke through the woods, and the Shepherds' camp was now in full view. Many tents were heavily damaged from the combat, and the sight of visible scuffs in the dirt as well as patches of blood sobered Chrom's expression. However, all was peaceful for now, and Chrom could see movement from the Shepherds in camp, prompting from him a quiet exhale of relief.

But Morgan stopped just on the fringe of the woods, lurching Chrom to a halt.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Chrom, we need to talk." Morgan eased Chrom's arm off of her shoulder, allowing him to stand on his own. She placed her hands on her hips and faced him. "What was that all about, earlier? When we were talking to Mom?"

Chrom evaded the topic skillfully: "I, uhhh… don't know what you're talking about."

Morgan hit him on the arm. _"Captain!"_

Chrom rubbed his bicep, frowning. "Hey."

Morgan leaned in, her cheeks puffed in an irritable pout. "What'd you learn, huh? What are you keeping from Mom?" Her eyes narrowed. "What are you keeping from _me?"_

"It's complicated," Chrom said, not meeting her eye. "I don't know the whole truth yet. Suffice to say that it, ah… it's less simple than the story Marth told."

Morgan leaned back again and crossed her arms. "And you can't tell me because…?"

"I said it's complicated." Chrom suddenly remembered himself, and he furrowed his eyebrows seriously. "…We're friends, Morgan, and I trust you. But I'm still your superior, and I wish to keep this to myself for now."

Morgan watched him distrustfully for a moment.

"…Fine."

She offered him a hand. Gradually, Chrom took it, and Morgan eased his arm over her shoulder.

"You'll tell me eventually," she said with certainty. "I'm sick of all these secrets."

Chrom sighed. "Me too, Morgan. Me too."

Before they could even take a step, Chrom heard a voice:

"Heyo! Over here, handsome!"

Chrom and Morgan looked around, baffled. "Where—?"

Suddenly, Chrom felt a tapping on his shoulder, and he turned around in surprise. The sight before him elicited a familiar noise of "Bwuh?"

Two Annas stood before him, smiling identically.

"Sup, Chrom," one said.

"Whaddup, Mr. Your Highness."

Slowly, Chrom eased himself off of Morgan, his eyes trained on the Annas warily.

One of the Annas laughed. "We're not animals, Chrom. You can make sudden movements." The other Anna snorted in amusement.

Chrom sighed irritably. "You've had enough fun with that, haven't you, Anna? Well, I'll give you the same offer. Tell me which one's which, or it's a week's latrine duty."

Both Annas seemed as if they were about to speak, but then decided against it as one.

Chrom crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. "Geez. Do _want_ latrine duty or someth—?"

He hesitated. His expression soured as he slowly grasped his mistake.

The Annas both smirked at him.

Chrom pinched the bridge of his nose. "…Neither of you are my Anna."

Both Annas burst out laughing.

He glanced at Morgan, intending to exchange a "Can you believe these guys?" look with her, but the young tactician was practically doubled over in laughter herself.

Chrom sighed, shaking his head and waiting for the three idiots to stop laughing.

Morgan wiped a tear from her eye as she settled down. "M-Man, heheh… I take back anything I've ever said about the Annas."

Chrom rolled his eyes. "Anyway… Annas. Er…" Well, one was on the left, and one was on the right, so… Left Anna and Right Anna.

"You got us quick," said Left Anna. "But now that you mention it, we haven't seen Shepherd in a good minute, actually." She peered over Chrom's shoulder at the camp. "Mind if we say hi?"

Chrom frowned. "But… huh? Which Shepherd?"

"Oh!" Left Anna shook her head embarrassedly. "Shepherd is what we call _your_ Anna. Sorry about that."

"Oh. Well, I guess nicknames are pretty inevitable when all of you look the same, act the same, and have the same name."

"I resent that," said Right Anna.

"Nah, no you don't," said Left.

"You don't like pickles. I LOVE pickles." Right Anna smirked. "See? Different!"

"And that's why we call her Pickles," Left Anna concluded.

"…Great?" Chrom said. "Then how do you tell all the alternate Shepherd Annas apart?"

"Ah…" Left Anna rubbed her head sheepishly. "Let's… Let's call that a trade secret, eh?"

Chrom frowned. "And now that I think of it… Anna said she only has one sister. You all are from alternate timelines, right? Why are none of _you_ Shepherds?"

"Oookay!" said Pickles— _No, that's silly_ —said Right Anna hastily. "Let's _not_ get into that right now."

Chrom could already feel a familiar headache coming up, so yeah, best to change the subject. "Why are you here, then? I sent Anna—I sent _Shepherd_ to go get you."

"You can call her Anna if you want," said Left Anna.

Right Anna nodded.

Chrom squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "Fine! _Anna!_ Now answer my question!"

Both Annas tapped their chins in an infuriatingly identical pose. "Hmm, why _did_ we come here?" Left Anna pondered.

Right Anna nodded her agreement. "Drawin' a blank. Man, that Harvest Festival really took it out of us, huh?"

Left Anna beamed. "Yeah, that was _fun!_ Remember the pumpkin carving?"

"Heck yeah!"

Chrom looked between the two Annas quizzically. "Harvest Festival? Why does that sound familiar?"

"Old Hubba mentioned it," said Morgan instantly.

"Right."

Right Anna's jaw dropped. "You haven't heard of the Outrealm Harvest Festival?!"

"No," Chrom huffed impatiently. "We're from the Inrealms. I'd never even heard of the Outrealms before a few days ago, much less any festivals held in them."

"Oh! Right." Right Anna cleared her throat. "Yeah, uh… It's the Springrealm. They have massive Harvest Festivals, bigger than any Inrealm ones."

"You've _gotta_ see it," said Left Anna enthusiastically. "Look, once you're all in good shape, we'll take you there. Deal?"

Chrom sighed. _Were it so simple._ "Thanks for the offer, Anna. I'll think about it."

"Hold up," said Morgan. "What's this festival all about?"

"It's… It's a normal harvest festival, just really big," said Left Anna uncertainly. "What is there to say? Around the time of the autumn harvest, there's feasting and stuff. Good times are had."

"Huh," said Morgan.

The other three members of the conversation watched her quietly for a moment.

"Morgan…" Chrom ventured, "Have you… never been to a harvest festival?"

Morgan sighed. "C'mon, Captain. I only remember as far back as when you guys found me in the Ruins of Time. Unless there have been harvest festivals since the end of the war that I haven't been invited to—which I doubt, since we haven't had an autumn season since the war ended—then I haven't even had the chance."

Chrom pursed his lips. Some of the fondest memories of his youth stemmed from Ylisstol's Harvest Festivals, and the relative freedom he was allowed during those weeks compared to his stifling life in the castle. He knew for certain Lissa and Emmeryn felt the same way…

The thought then struck Chrom that Emmeryn _wouldn't_ feel the same way. She had no memory of the harvest festivals either. A pain of loss shot through him, one that he hadn't felt since reuniting with his sister last November.

"Tell me more about it," Chrom insisted. "What's it like?"

Both Annas blinked, smiles growing on their expressions at the sight of Chrom's enthusiasm.

Left Anna spoke up first. "Gosh, where to start? Like my lovely sister said earlier, the Springrealm's Harvest Festival is big. Like, really big. Thousands and thousands of people show up to participate. And…" Her eyes glazed over. "The shopping… oh so much shopping. So much capitalism!"

Right Anna nudged her sister mischievously. "So much golding?"

Left Anna rolled her eyes. "I refuse to let that catch on."

"You and me are on the same page, then," said Chrom. "Thousands and thousands, you say? That's very impressive, but… where do they come from? Is the Springrealm its own massive world?"

"Well, yeah," said Pickles. "It's not like it's fall over there twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five. It's not called the Autumnrealm, you know… Though that's mostly because that name has, just, just NO ring to it."

"Yep, it's big," said Southpaw. "Probably the size of Ylisse or so."

"What do you mean 'the size of Ylisse'?" Morgan asked. "Does the world just fall away at the ends, or…?"

"Good question, not an easy answer," said Left Anna. "We'd have to get into space-time folding, and boy oh boy do I not want to start on that. You want a complex explanation, you'll have to talk to Mother. That's her forte."

Right Anna nodded in agreement.

"Right… your mother," said Chrom. "Blue, right? I need to thank her for what she did for Sumia."

The two Annas exchanged a glance and snickered. "Please. If you were gonna meet Mother, she'd find you first."

Chrom sighed. "Great. One of _those_ types." He continued to think. "…Thousands and thousands, huh? And they all come from that one little Outrealm?"

"Haha! No, no, people show up from all over. The Springrealm is definitely not the only inhabited Outrealm." Right Anna chuckled. "Who knows how many of _those_ there are!"

Left Anna nodded. "Yeah. The Outrealms are pretty freaking massive as a whole. No Outrealm is as big as the Inrealm, but the Outrealms just _dwarf_ the Inrealm in spacetime."

"Sounds… incomprehensible," said Morgan.

"Ohoho yeah. But hey, it's crazy profitable!"

Chrom smiled at the Annas' exuberance. Hearing all this… well, the headache was back, but it still raised a sort of peace in him. Like… like, after all this time, the Outrealms were finally being _introduced._ Like he'd only gotten a taste of them so far.

It was, though. Incomprehensible, that is. The more he tried to wrap his mind around the Annas' explanations, the more he found his focus slipping. He glanced aside at Morgan, watching her hanging onto (and undoubtedly memorizing) every detail the Annas gave. Chrom figured he'd just leave this stuff to her.

But the thought of a Harvest Festival was no less than divine. The Shepherds needed that. He needed that. _Morgan_ needed that.

 _One day, that's all. Tomorrow if everyone's up for it. Then, the search for Robin resumes._

But his excitement suddenly died as he remembered the Shepherds' predicament. It still wasn't that simple.

Morgan's conversation with the Annas drifted into Chrom's ear. "…aren't gonna run into any alternate versions of ourselves there, are we?"

"Probably not," said Right Anna. "The number of Inrealm timelines that have breached the Outrealms is… infinitesimal. Like, 'can count on one hand' infinitesimal."

Morgan's eyebrows furrowed deeply in confusion. Her mouth formed the word, "How…?" But the sound didn't pass her lips.

Infinitesimal, hm? Chrom scratched his head. _How special we must be, then._

He laughed quietly. "Heh, with parallel timelines involved, it makes you feel kind of insignificant, you know? I'm just one of an infinite number of Chroms."

"Don't worry, dude," said Left Anna. "It's not an _infinite_ number of universes."

Right Anna's smile quickly died, and she elbowed her twin scoldingly.

Left Anna's smile disappeared as well. "Ahem, I mean, yeah, infinite universes. Tough luck, bro."

Chrom looked between the two Annas, confused. "…Are you telling me there's a _finite_ number of parallel universes?"

"I don't recall anyone saying anything about finite parallel universes," Right Anna stated, machine-like.

"Yes, I concur, no indication was given that there is any less than an infinite number of universes," Left Anna echoed, equally mechanical. "Oh no. It seems, we must leave. Because there is an important thing."

"Yes," agreed Right Anna, "the thing. The important thing. That you must attend to." She gestured over Chrom's shoulder—not far away stood Maribelle, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

Chrom's shoulders slumped. _We've been here for a while, huh? The others passed us up._

The Annas were both trying their hardest to maintain neutral expressions with unfocused eyes. "Farewell, Chrom. It—has—been—pleasant."

"Yes. Pleasant."

They both bowed out in a seriously robotic fashion.

"Wackjobs," Chrom muttered. Morgan nodded in agreement.

They turned toward Maribelle, and Morgan ducked under Chrom's arm to help him walk. Chrom offered his wife a weak smile as he approached.

Her expression was sharp, however. "Chrom."

"You said you'd save your harsh words for after my victory," Chrom pointed out. "Now's the time if you want to lecture me for my recklessness or whatever."

"Please. That would be like beating a stray dog." She sighed. "…For now, you're suffering enough. Come now, honey." She offered him her arm for further support. "Let's get you lying down."

Chrom smiled at her, accepting the aid. "I love you."

"I love you too." Her expression didn't change, though.

* * *

Frederick was standing guard outside the medical tent as they arrived. If the past seven months had been any indication, this could only mean Emmeryn was nearby. Probably inside the tent.

Frederick greeted the Exalt with a friendly "milord," receiving a "Good work today, Frederick" in response.

Chrom stopped in front of the tent. "Morgan, I can make it from here."

"If you say so." Morgan gestured a thumb over her shoulder. "In that case, I'm gonna go check on that after-action report."

"You mean hug your mother some more?"

"Yup. Peace."

Morgan gave Chrom and Maribelle a salute and walked away.

With Maribelle's help, Chrom entered the small medical tent. His eyes narrowed— _This isn't the medical tent._ Sure enough, there were unpacked crates in the corner indicating this tent's intended use of storage.

He sighed. _The ACTUAL medical tent must be filled entirely with wounded, Shepherds and Einherjar alike._ He felt a sort of painful nostalgia; the aftermaths of the larger battles against Valm had been like this.

As it was, Chrom was nearly alone in the tent. The only other occupant lay in a bed across from the one Maribelle led Chrom to; both of Chrom's sisters were working diligently on their patient.

Chrom's eyes narrowed suspiciously, not leaving Marth's semiconscious form, as Chrom approached a bed.

Gingerly—feeling the sting of his wounds very sharply—Chrom lay down, Maribelle easing him under the covers.

"I—I'm good, I've got it," Chrom murmured, waving his wife off.

He let out a heavy sigh as he lay back in the bed, finally relaxing. He felt disgusting—in need of a bath. Two baths. A lot of baths. The dirt and blood and sweat and… fear… The sheets were sticking to him.

Maribelle immediately went to work undoing Chrom's armor, relieving him of the uncomfortable steel, leather, and buckles. One after the other, she placed each piece beside his bed, before hesitating, looking Chrom over again and again as if in search of more armor to remove.

Chrom smiled weakly. "I'm comfortable, Maribelle. Thank you."

She smiled back, equally weak.

"Hey, Chrom?" piped in Lissa from across the room. The princess turned away from her patient and approached Chrom's bed, her hands on her hips. "I, uh… Marth isn't looking good."

She and Chrom both glanced over at the Hero-King. His eyelids flickered feebly in his struggle to stay conscious.

Lissa turned back to her brother, wearing a grimace. "Chrom—maybe—I mean—maybe it'd be better if… if, um…"

"If what, dear?" Maribelle asked.

"He's going to suffer a lot of pain," Lissa blurted quickly. "I mean, _lots_ of pain, and it won't go away soon. But he's… not human, y'know? He doesn't have to go through that. Maybe it'd be better for him if we—if we spared him all that, and just let him return to his card."

"No!"

The cry came from in front of and behind Lissa: both Chrom and Marth had shouted with equal vehemence.

Chrom continued. "I need to talk to him. We can't afford to let him lose his memories. Not yet."

Lissa frowned and glanced over at Marth, who was fighting Emmeryn's attempts to make him stay down. The Hero-King collected himself into a sitting position and met Lissa's eye.

But Emmeryn was stronger for once, and she was able to force Marth back down onto the bed.

Marth coughed. "I—I don't… I…"

Lissa faced Chrom. "…I guess that settles it. Emm can handle Marth alone, though. The rest of the wounded need me more."

Lissa moved to the exit, but she hesitated there. "Chrom, what was the deal with Old Hubba? That whole deal really came out of nowhere."

Chrom sighed. "Look, I'll… release a pamphlet, or something."

"You and your pamphlets…" Lissa fidgeted on her toes. "But you were right all along, huh? Uh… sorry for calling you a jerk before. And for hiding frogs in your bed."

Before Chrom could get past "Wha—", Lissa was gone.

Chrom groaned and closed his eyes. "Great. If this is anything like last time, she found the greasy ones. I'll need to get a new pillow."

Maribelle chuckled lightly. "…Are you certain you are comfortable, dear?"

"As much as I can be, I guess."

"Does your wound still hurt?"

"Not especially." He smiled wanly. "Maribelle, I'm fine. I just need some rest, I think."

She started to reach over him. "If you'd allow me to look at it again—"

"Maribelle," he said sternly, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "I'm fine. Really."

She slowly relented, her expression conflicted. She continued to linger painfully for another minute.

Chrom watched Marth carefully. The prince seemed to still be conscious, laying still and accepting Emmeryn's treatment.

"You know… I _am_ pretty thirsty," Chrom offered, glancing up at his wife. "Would you mind getting me some water?"

"I…" Maribelle glanced over at Marth, a hint of suspicion creeping in her. "…As you wish."

Maribelle reluctantly departed the tent.

The tent faced another near-silent moment. Only Emmeryn was moving, analyzing Marth's wounds as she worked her Recover staff.

Chrom cleared his throat. "Emm."

"Hm?" She glanced over her shoulder at him. "What's the matter?"

Chrom smiled for her. "How is he?"

"Mm…" Emmeryn faced her patient. "It seems he will be fine… There's not much more a staff can do for him for now."

"I see. In that case, would you mind leaving the two of us alone?"

Emmeryn frowned. "What?" She turned back to Chrom, scrutinizing his expression. "…Why?"

"I need to talk to Marth in private."

Emmeryn's eyes narrowed. She could see through that smile Chrom was forcing—she could sense the animosity underneath. But she recognized that Chrom was hardly able to gain his feet, much less harm her patient.

"Chrom…" She stood and faced her younger brother. "Don't… Don't do anything rash."

Emmeryn left the tent as well.

Chrom's gaze settled on Marth, and his smile faded. Marth's eyes stared up at the roof of the tent.

"Marth, how do you feel?"

Marth coughed. "Not in top form, needless to say…"

Chrom's eyes narrowed. "Good enough shape to talk?"

Grimacing, Marth slowly propped himself up on his elbows. He adjusted his pillows somewhat, and then sat back, now elevated enough to meet the Exalt's eye.

"…Yes."

"Good." Chrom intended to cross his arms, but the wound precluded that for now. "I know where you're going to start. Katarina. You endangered all of us by not telling us about her."

"She wasn't the most important assassin," Marth explained. "We knew who she was, yes. We also knew who Roro was, and where. But Clarisse eluded us. I'm—I'm sorry to say this, but Clarisse was so stealthy, we didn't know how else to draw her out but by…" He trailed off, grimacing.

"By using us as bait."

"Yes."

There was a silent pause. Marth didn't try to evade Chrom's gaze; the Hero-King's blue eyes carried a sorrowful burden.

"You are right to distrust me," Marth said softly. "I did lie to you. There were several parts of my story that I fabricated, or at least exaggerated. However, I cannot emphasize enough the necessity of my deception. I was limited on time, and the story was based in fact—I accurately conveyed the most important part of the story, which was Old Hubba's true nature. I left the rest of the distracting details out, to be fully clarified after the fact." He gestured at Chrom. "Like so."

"Those were more than 'distracting details.' They were _important."_

"Then I'll tell the full story now," Marth replied formally. "I… must warn you. This does not paint me in a good light. I…"

Marth finally averted his eyes, looking down.

"…I wouldn't blame you if you wished to kill me afterwards."

Chrom denied nothing.

"Continue, then."

"Very well." Marth took a deep breath, and he met Chrom's eye again. "The beginning of the story was not falsified. Up until that fateful night—Beatrice's death, and the cleansing of the mansion—my story was the same. As you know, my first falsehood regarded the identity of Beatrice's murderer…"

…

* * *

Marth's rapier retreated slickly, casting the assassin's crimson blood across the grass. Her fingers had twitched as the blade had entered her skull, but she now lay entirely still.

Marth's breath was loud in his ears, his heart pumping, as he forced himself to return the sword to its sheath. He and Old Hubba both stood over the girl, glaring down at her corpse.

"That's that, then," Old Hubba muttered. He turned away from the body, and without another word, he slowly began making his way home.

Alone, Marth fell to his knees. Where was the catharsis? When he had defeated Roy earlier, he'd received intense—if brief—satisfaction. Satisfaction in stopping Beatrice's killer. When he'd run the lord through, he'd almost smirked.

But now, there was none of that. He stared at the young girl's disfigured face, and he felt… was it… was it pity? Pity and… hatred…

His fingernails dug into the dirt. This girl was so young. She had an adorable little smile, one she held onto even in death. Nothing about her indicated she was the type to kill. He wanted to feel bad for her. Her father—Robin? She was manipulated by him, most certainly.

But… but that didn't matter.

He hated her. He _hated_ her. She killed Beatrice. She forced Old Hubba's hand. And now, everything Marth had loved about this new life was gone.

All because of this girl.

Who was she?

Thoughtlessly, rabid with hate, he moved to her, searching through her robes. Searching for _anything._ Anything he could use to identify her.

His breath caught when he felt his fingers brush against paper. He hastily pulled it out of her pocket and stood, squinting in the moonlight to make out the words.

However, it was far too dark. With one last glare down at the girl, he hurried back to the mansion, clutching the letter with fervor well beyond its value.

* * *

"This can never happen again." Card, manifest, stack.

Marth trembled. Partly from intimidation—this Old Hubba was not the one he knew. This one could murder Marth in an instant had he the slightest motivation to do so.

The other part was a similar fear. His fear of his own hatred. Because now, he was armed with a name.

He had found a moment to himself to read the letter. In the coming days, he would memorize every word on it. Burn them into his memory.

.

 _Dear Morgan,_

 _I feel like it's been so long since I've been able to see you! I'm sorry, honey. Mommy will be home soon, I promise._

 _You know what? I'll make it up to you. Daddy and I will spend a whooooole week, just with you—and if you can get in touch with your sibling, then we can even be a whole family for a while!_

 _I promise, I won't be in the field for much longer. Even Shepherds need a break sometimes!_

 _Love,_

 _Mommy_

.

What a cute note. The letters were faded from the years, and it was wrinkled and fragile from the many times this killer—this MORGAN—must have read it. A memento. In the coming years, Marth would ponder this, and wonder if it was all Morgan had left of her mother. Of this Robin's, this… Grima's, wife.

It never changed Marth's feelings. Every twinge of pity he felt for Morgan would quickly be replaced with the image of Beatrice's body. Of the feeling of helplessness when Marth had stood and watched his friends be massacred. That pity would fizzle away into burning hate.

…

* * *

"A hundred years, Chrom. All that time, I was no different from Old Hubba. He justified his actions with Bea's murder. I justified my compliance with blame for Morgan. Each traveler I slew—each one I watched be slain—I would remember Morgan, and think the words, 'It's _her_ fault.' Never my own." Marth took a shallow breath. "I suppose… it was all I could do to cope. Regardless of where I shifted the blame—whether to Morgan or to Old Hubba or to myself—I'd have to perform the action anyway. I am… merely an Einherjar.

"Of course, you were correct about the encounter eight months ago. Yes, we did meet Robin, apparently shortly following his vanquishing of Grima. The monster within, I presume." Marth's shoulders slumped. "The details… I'd sooner leave to the imagination. But Old Hubba was correct—I learned of his relation to Morgan, was consumed with a hundred years of catharsis-deprived, pent-up rage, and attempted to take it out on him."

"And?" Chrom asked. "What was the end result?"

"The same," said Marth. "He was able to sneak into the mansion, steal the Einherjar, and escape into the Outrealms with them. As in my doctored story, I left a minor wound as he entered the portal that separated man and bag. And of course, Algol found the cards, started pillaging, et cetera.

"Contrary to what I said before, I did not acquire an enlightening epiphany from my duel with Robin. I was left frustrated and impotent, suffering minor injuries from a man who had proven vastly my superior. I achieved no catharsis, nor a freedom from hatred and guilt. Instead, I gained… nothingness. Quietness. Lack of feeling. I… stopped. Virtually dead. I, I couldn't see color, I couldn't taste food, I…"

Marth choked.

Chrom frowned. _A lack of feeling…_ _I wonder how Sumia is doing. I need to speak with her._

"I didn't really care anymore," Marth continued. "We'd lost the Einherjar, so I had nothing to do. Just me and Old Hubba, alone… And when he lost the assassins thanks to Shanna outwitting him, I figured that that was just the end. Algol had learned where the mansion was, thanks to Shanna stumbling across it; it wouldn't be long before he sacked the place, took me, and killed Old Hubba. We were out of options, so Old Hubba went to try to get his cards back, and that was when he found you."

…

* * *

"It's an honor, Mr. Hero-King!" said Morgan, bubbling.

There was no mistaking it. Marth's chest ached with dread. It was her. He hadn't been sure at first— _Was her hair always brown? I suppose it must have been._

He had to keep himself from staring. Tried to keep his focus on Chrom when explaining the concept of Einherjar. Had trouble facing her whenever she spoke. But Morgan was the elephant in the room, a weight constantly pressing on him in the corner of his mind's eye.

He didn't know what to feel. Conflicted would be the best word. He felt tingles of his hate, but this Morgan was not the one he had killed, of course. She seemed well-meaning, in fact. Like an entirely different Morgan. In hindsight, perhaps that was true.

But that didn't change the fact that this was Morgan.

* * *

"…This isn't a decision I should make rashly," Chrom interrupted. Lucina raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I'm calling a meeting. Shepherds only. We need to discuss this first before we take action."

"I wholeheartedly agree," said Lucina.

"Me too," Morgan added.

Old Hubba sighed. "Well…" He shrugged. "Celica ain't going anywhere. Take your time."

Chrom exchanged nods with Lucina and Morgan, and they left the study.

Old Hubba quietly closed the door behind them, and he turned to face Marth, one of his bushy eyebrows already raised in expectation. "…Well?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by "well", sir," said Marth, stone-faced. "The path is obvious. We obtain what we need from them, and then we kill them. Same as any other traveler. I'll begin studying their leader's fighting style as soon as possible."

Old Hubba rested both of his hands on his cane, quietly watching Marth for a moment.

Slowly, a smile broke on Old Hubba's expression. "…Son, that's just what I wanted to hear. Glad we're on the same page for once." He leaned in, his eyes twinkling. "Want dibs on killin' Morgan?"

"I don't care."

"Sure you do."

Marth didn't respond to that. His expression didn't even change.

"I don't know the truth," Marth said. "I don't know why there is a living Morgan inside our mansion right now. But that doesn't matter." A sudden fire lit in his eyes. "Because she is going to die, and I will finally have closure."

The old man tilted his head curiously. "And then?"

"That's… irrelevant." He looked away. "After that… you could kill me, if you wanted."

Hubba frowned. "Aw, don't be like that. If you died, who else would I have?" He chuckled. "You ain't gonna leave me alone, Marth. I don't wanna be the only one left who remembers Bea."

…

* * *

Chrom tried crossing his arms again, having forgotten the reason why he wasn't doing that already. After the pain faded, he addressed Marth. "But I suppose you changed your mind, given that this conversation is happening."

"Yes," Marth said. "I did. I assure you, I bear no ill will towards Morgan any longer. I… I regret everything. I know now that I was foolish to even think of…"

Marth trailed off. He reasoned that Chrom wasn't interested in apologies.

"…I suppose the _why_ is what you want." Marth cleared his throat. "It was a few things in rapid succession. The first: realizing that the Einherjar do not need to die to change hands, of course. This was a solution I'd hoped for for a hundred years: a way to escape Old Hubba's influence without my death.

"The second…"

…

* * *

Marth parried a strike from Titania as she passed. He turned to the side, intending to shout a warning for Chrom, but the Exalt was already aware; Chrom placed his heel into the ground, hefted his golden sword, and struck when Titania did, blocking her attack and nearly removing her from her horse.

As Titania retreated, Marth found himself short on breath. Chrom grasped his weapon with valor, his powerful eyes scanning for his next opponent.

The sword hummed. The weapon Marth had been watching, studying—now, in the heat of battle, wielded by its owner, the sword's name revealed itself.

It didn't look the same. The hilt was virtually unrecognizable. But it felt the same. The way it called to Marth hadn't changed.

Falchion.

 _Chrom is my descendant,_ Marth thought weakly. _Chrom shares my blood._

…

* * *

Marth paused to catch his breath. He winced, his hand grasping at the wound underneath his shirt; it seemed to be constricting him. He would have liked to be out of this tunic, but…

"So that's it," said Chrom. "You realized who I was, and… that's why the Shepherds are still alive."

"Yes," said Marth. "I became immediately disillusioned in Old Hubba's—in _our_ plan, but I knew I had an out. That was when _my_ plan formed in my mind, the one I explained before… or rather, a rough outline of it.

"I no longer wished to kill you. Even my desire for catharsis, to see Morgan dead again, had evaporated. My doubts from before had compounded, while my hate vanished. I even tried to picture Beatrice—tried to remember how I had felt—but all I could see was Morgan, your genius tactician. Her smile, her charm. She… She was not the same Morgan, and I was finally able to believe that. She did not deserve death. None of you did.

"So, I planned for one of you to defeat me. I didn't care who, but a part of me wanted to face you, Chrom. Something like… a final sendoff, I suppose. Especially fitting when Algol granted me my Falchion. Afterwards, I planned to disappear, perhaps to make a life in the Inrealm, or in another Outrealm."

"You didn't just want to die?" Chrom asked. "You told Old Hubba you didn't care."

Marth fidgeted. "But—But I _did_ care. I DO care, immensely. I—I fear death, Chrom." He looked away, grimacing. "I never wanted to die…"

Tense silence hung in the air.

Chrom's expression never shifted from an unfeeling stare. "…So what changed your mind?"

…

* * *

No sooner had Marth alighted on the soil of Old Hubba's Outrealm than he heard a soft bird call from the woods. He soon found a chance to separate from the rest of the Shepherds, and he joined his allies.

As soon as he finished explaining his plans, he could immediately see the displeasure written on their faces.

"Marth, that's horrible." Seliph clenched his hands into fists.

Marth blinked. "…What?"

Micaiah leaned closer, a dire look in her eyes. "Marth—we have at our fingertips the only chance to stop Old Hubba that we've had in a century, and you intend to run away from it."

"Micaiah, this means _freedom,"_ Marth stated. "I've been in chains for a hundred years. None of you understand what this means to me! To be—to be finally free…" He trailed off, overcome. "The three of you, and Leif… You have been free for a hundred years. Never have you had to kill… Never have you been on the brink of losing everything you are." He met each of their eyes. "Just a few days ago I couldn't remember your faces. I couldn't remember what it felt like to be around you." He dug his nails into his palms. "I still can't remember what… what _she_ felt like… What it felt like to…"

Silence fell.

"Prince Marth," Lena began softly. "I am so sorry… I know we could never understand. I know. But Old Hubba is a menace that needs to be stopped, and we can finally do it, _together._ We'd hardly even need to adjust your plan." She put a hand on his cheek; he put his hand atop hers, smiling wanly. "Marth… I would hope you, more than anyone, would know what it would mean for Old Hubba to be stopped."

…

* * *

"I still wasn't sure," Marth continued. "The temptation to ignore them was strong. Once I lay at the bloody end of Falchion, would I just take my freedom and leave? Forget everything about Seliph, Lena, Micaiah, and Leif; ignore Old Hubba, ignore the last hundred years?" He smiled slightly. "What convinced me was, again, my blood."

…

* * *

The clearing was silent and tense. Micaiah leaned against a tree, arms crossed nervously as she stared at Marth. Lena was calmly folding his bloodied clothes, to be discarded later.

Marth paused, holding a clean tunic in his hands. Impassive, he looked down at his bare chest; he traced a finger along the agitated scar running down his sternum.

 _"Caeda is safe now. You can come home."_

 _Marth stared at Lucina's hand, pained tears welling in his eyes._

He winced at his finger's pressure. This wound would ache for a while more.

Marth glanced over his shoulder at his two allies. Lena's back was to him, but Micaiah seemed desperate to meet his eye.

Marth sighed. He couldn't blame her.

They had revived him, even with the uncertainty of Marth's cooperation. He was superfluous to the plan, after all. With or without Marth, Beatrice's Einherjar could use the Shepherds to the fullest. Yet, they'd saved him anyway. It was only natural that she would want an answer.

 _Lucina reflexively swatted aside Marth's sword and plunged her blade into the Hero-King's chest._

The Falchion lay nearby—sheathed, leaning against a tree on the fringe of the clearing.

Marth turned his attention back to the tunic in his hands, and he lifted it over his head.

 _"Wh-Why, Marth?! It didn't have to be this way!"_

He straightened the tunic and began to buckle it down.

 _"Brady!" Lucina cried, looking around. "Mother! Anyone! We need a healer!"_

He reached for his cape.

 _"Lucina! …I don't have much time left before I return to the card, so… just listen, okay?" Marth saw tears glistening in Lucina's eyes. Those eyes that had seen a fallen land… His gaze drifted to the sword she had dropped nearby in her shock._

Marth secured his cape around his shoulders.

 _"Don't grieve for me… My time passed, long ago…" He brushed his fingers against her cheek. She trembled underneath his touch. Such—such empathy, such…_

"I'm unworthy of you," Marth whispered to the solemn air. He again turned his gaze on Falchion—the blade of light, the slayer of Shadow Dragons.

Resolve slowly began to grow on his expression, replacing his stony silence from before. Without hesitation, he strode forward; he grasped the golden blade's sheath and quickly affixed it to his hip.

With a whirl of his cape, he turned to face his two allies. Both Lena and Micaiah watched him expectantly—nervously.

"You were right all along," said Marth. "Micaiah. Lena. I'm in. Old Hubba must be stopped."

A light grew on both of their expressions.

* * *

"…My blood. _Our_ blood. Your daughter—Lucina.

"She had come to me… Opened her heart… Begged for the judgment of the Hero-King she so idolized. It was then that I remembered who I was."

Marth's eyes lit with determination, and he smiled, genuinely, for the first time since he had begun his story.

"I am not an automaton," Marth declared. "I am more than that. I am more than an Einherjar. I am Marth! Prince Marth, descendent of Anri, the man who would become the legendary Hero-King! And Lucina—Lucina, champion from such a desolate world, twice the hero of anyone I'd ever met—deserves an ancestor she can be proud of.

"That's why, Chrom. That's why I could let it all go. It was Lucina who reminded me of who I am, who I _should_ be. For Lucina, I changed my plans—I lent you my aid, even when you did not know it. All for her—all for you. All for the Shepherds, those who had picked up the mantle I left behind, and who carry it better than I ever could."

Marth was suddenly short on breath, and he sat back; his mounting pride had sat him up, which had succeeded in inflaming his wounds.

"And from then on… the story is the same," Marth panted. "You know the rest…"

Chrom tried for the third time to cross his arms, and failed yet again. He settled for a curious frown as he pondered Marth's story.

Marth's pride had mostly faded, leaving behind pain and fear. He anxiously awaited Chrom's judgment.

"You were right," Chrom mused. "That story was, indeed, less than flattering… But of course I have no intention of executing you."

Marth exhaled slightly.

"Even if I thought you deserved it, I wouldn't let you die," Chrom said. "That isn't the Shepherd way. That isn't _my_ way. And, regardless of your deception, you _did_ help us, and we _did_ put a stop to Old Hubba thanks to you. I haven't forgotten that, and I won't soon." His gaze sharpened somewhat. "But you aren't just walking free, either. You're staying with me—with the rest of the Einherjar. I need to keep my eye on you."

Marth sighed. "…Of course, milord. I should be grateful." He gestured out of the tent. "As soon as I can, I will inform Seliph and the others that we will be traveling with you for the time being."

"Good."

Marth's eyes closed, and he let out a deep breath as he relaxed. "…Chrom… If I may ask… What is 'the time being'? What do you plan on doing with the Einherjar…?"

Chrom scoffed. "That's the million-coin question, isn't it?"

Marth chuckled, which turned into a short cough. He then fell silent. Within moments, Chrom could hear Marth's breathing steady into a deep rhythm, his chest rising and falling evenly.

Chrom wished he could do the same. But he was restless—fidgeting, both in the agitation from his injury and the discomfort Marth's tale had inspired in him.

 _I think I liked the other one more._ He sighed. _…But it's nice to know the full truth, for once._

Chrom stared out the tent, grimacing. He began to pull the covers off.

 _Geez…_ _Maribelle's gonna give me an earful, but I hate sitting around._

He slowly lifted himself out of bed.

* * *

"Morgan!" Chrom smiled. "I thought you'd be with Sumia."

Morgan sighed. "Hey, Captain. I _was,_ but she was all 'Morgan stop, I can't breathe.' Can you believe that?"

"Hardly." Chrom put a hand on his hip. "Do you have an after-action report ready?"

"Sort of," said Morgan, a little irritated. "But Cordelia formatted it all wrong…"

"What?"

"Nothin'. Anyway, if you wanted to look over that unorganized mess, I've got it back in my tent."

"I think that's less important right now," said Chrom. "Right now, we need to get everyone up to speed. We're going to make some pamphlets."

"Pamphlets?" laughed Morgan. "Seriously, we're making pamphlets again? Thought we saved those for Grima's returns."

"Yeah, well."

Morgan exhaled. "Alright, I guess. Let's get back to my tent."

Chrom's response died in his throat, while his eyes drifted over Morgan's shoulder. "…In a minute, it seems. That looks important."

Morgan turned to follow his gaze. The two Annas from earlier were hurrying over, both seeming rather embarrassed.

"Heyyy!" called Left Anna—was it the same Left Anna? They might've switched sides. "Sup, Chrom!"

"Hello." Chrom's eyes narrowed. "What's the matter _this_ time?"

"We're sorry!" said Right Anna. "We got so distracted by all the nonsense you were talking earlier that we forgot why we came."

Chrom frowned. "That's right, you said our Anna wasn't the one who fetched you. Why are you here?"

"We're here from the other day," Left Anna said. "You guys were having trouble with Outrealm Sickness, weren't you?"

Chrom and Morgan exchanged a surprised glance.

"…Yeah?" Chrom said slowly.

Both Annas beamed identically. "Well, look no further! I present to you…"

Right Anna dug into her bag, biting her lip expectantly. She pulled out a jar—"No, those are my pickles… Aha!" She produced a small sack, shaking it excitedly. Based on the sound, the bag was filled with some sand-like substance. "I give you, Bath Elixir! Please imagine any sort of item-get jingle you wish."

Chrom accepted the gift. "…Bath Elixir?" He looked up at the Annas, his expression growing distraught. "Was it really this simple?!"

"Nooo," said Left Anna. "It really wasn't. That stuff's expensive. Had to make a lot of it to accommodate you _and_ your Manaketes, PLUS Sumia."

A thought occurred to Chrom. "But this isn't new, is it? The alternate party didn't have any Outrealm Sickness issues, so they must have used that, right?"

Both Annas blinked. "No? This stuff's brand new. Not even a trademark yet."

"Then how…?" Chrom trailed off with a sigh. "Whatever. Thank you, Annas. This should prove invaluable. How do we use it?"

"Dump a handful of this in hot water. Bathe in it—let it really sink in—and you're good to go." Right Anna gave him a thumbs-up. "Granted, it's not well-tested, but according to Mother you should only need it once. Just don't dump the bathwater out, in case you need it again."

Chrom winced at the thought of bathing in the same water twice. Weighing that with fainting from the Outrealm Gate, though… "…Thanks. I guess I owe you now, huh?"

Left Anna winked. "You betcha! Mother'll collect that debt someday."

"Anywho, we're girls of our word," said Right Anna. "Whenever you're feeling better, we'll take you to the Harvest Festival."

"As it is, though, we'll go grab Shepherd and bring her back here; after all, you guys resolved the Old Hubba thing on your own, didntcha? She's got a terrible sense of direction when it comes to the Outrealms, so who knows _where_ she is right now."

"Haha, yep, that is _so_ her. See you soon!"

The two Annas left.

Chrom looked down at the bag in his hand, and he smiled slightly.

"Everything's turning up Shepherd today, isn't it?" Morgan said with a grin, nudging him.

"Seems like." He tied the Bath Elixir to his belt. "Anyway, let's get those pamphlets going. I'd imagine the others are going crazy wondering what even happened today."

He and Morgan began walking to her tent.

"It's been a long day," sighed Morgan. "And I'm tired of making after-action reports. I'm gonna try to make these entertaining. Sound good?"

Chrom grinned down at her. "Why do you think I'm enlisting _your_ help?"

* * *

.

"OLD HUBBA SUCKS" – A MORGAN PSA

-x-

 **HAS THIS EVER HAPPENED TO YOU?**

 _"Oh man, I sure do like this Old Hubba guy! He seems real swell! Wait, why is he trying to kill us? Oh no!"_

Careful there, Average Joe! You've just been hit by good ol' Betrayal Syndrome. Little did you know, Old Hubba was actually a liar! And evil.

 _"B-But he seemed so nice!"_

Yeah, well, he wasn't. Tough. He's killed a lot of people. Suck it up.

 _"B-But I liked him, and—"_

Oh, I'm sorry, are _you_ the one whose neck he had an assassin hold lightning to? I didn't think so.

A hundred years ago, his wife got offed, and he got so mad that he decided to become evil or something! I wasn't there, so I can't really judge, but man, what a jerk, right?

(Just kidding, loves. If one of you guys died, I'd _totally_ go evil for you.)

(Still kidding!)

Long story short, we're done. The Einherjar War is over. We've got all the Einherjar, and we've got the old guy captive, so we're free to search for my dad. I mean Robin. Woohoo! (I dunno about you, but I'd like a break first.)

Lastly, we also learned that Outrealm time flows one-to-one with Ylisse. No time tomfoolery. So, you can update your calendars: today's date is August 8th.

.

* * *

"Huh."

Owain glanced over at his friend. "What is it?"

Inigo's eyebrows were raised as he skimmed the pamphlet a second time. "Today's the eighth of August, huh?"

"Yeah?"

Inigo faced Owain. "Yesterday was my birthday."

A bright smile dawned on Owain's face. "So it was! Say, do you hear that, Inigo? The sounds of festivities? The sounds of celebration?! They _beckon!"_ He swiftly turned and started marching away. "Come now!"

Inigo blinked.

* * *

Chrom strained to get a good look at Owain and Inigo, but Maribelle was stubborn in keeping him pressed down on the bed. He couldn't really blame her, given his recent behavior.

Finally, Chrom gave up and sat back. "I think that sounds wonderful, Owain," he said. "The Shepherds could really use a morale booster. A birthday party would be a great idea."

"Aha! Excellent!" Owain proclaimed. "It shall be a celebration like no world has ever seen! We shall light the sky afire with—"

Chrom cleared his throat. "Let's… not forget that most of the Shepherds are in bad shape. We're going to keep things laid-back. We'll have a feast back at the mansion, and some _relaxing_ festivities."

"That's more than I could ask for," said Inigo, smiling. "Thank you, milord."

"Of course." Chrom smiled back. "Happy birthday."

* * *

 _Chapter 14 coming soon_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _This was supposed to be less than half of a chapter but then it turned into 12,000 words *grumble grumble*_

 _So there's a reason I haven't uploaded since September (today being early February, if you're from the future)._ _The stars have aligned, and several side-projects I've been working on all happened to near completion around the same time. I've finally finished all of them, so over the course of February, I'll be uploading all of them sequentially. That_ includes _another chapter of Into the Outrealms!_

 _P.S.: Shoutouts to Robotortoise for providing me a shiny new cover image! It's the same thing but ~high quality~_


	14. Eighth of August

Chapter 14: **Eighth of August**

* * *

An awkward silence permeated the tent as the two occupants packed their things, each seemingly avoiding the other's eye. Severa had been pointedly avoiding conversation with her mother during their stay in the shared tent—but the only words the two had shared, Cordelia kept close to her heart.

 _"Good night, Severa." Cordelia reached to douse the final lamp, then turned toward the tent flap; she had the night watch, after all._

 _"…G'night."_

A tiny smile played on Cordelia's lips as she recalled the way her heart had fluttered. Severa had been facing away at the time, and what she'd said was hardly a mumble. But it was _something._

Cordelia shut a box and paused, surveying the rest of her equipment absently. Muscle memory would be enough for her to pack up—gods knew she had had enough packing experience over the years—so in times like these, she allowed her mind to wander.

 _"You deserved more from me than one sword and a world full of troubles."_

 _"Oh, father!" Lucina cried, running into Chrom's arms._

Cordelia's fingers curled into an anxious fist, and she frowned and glanced over her shoulder at Severa. She noticed she'd caught her daughter's gaze; Severa hastily turned away to resume packing.

Cordelia relaxed her hands. _What…? She's so hard to read. What does she want from me?_

She resumed packing as well; her gears were turning, analyzing the situation, figuring out an angle. _What would Robin do?_ Cordelia wondered. He had been the type to always know what to say. Were he Severa's mother—ah, father, she meant; she smiled inwardly as she recalled the confusion with the alternate Robin—he would probably already have this whole situation sorted out. Severa had always been attached to Robin, obviously. Who hadn't been? The man was a natural at working with people.

 _So, what would Robin do? I suppose he'd have already figured out what Severa's issue stems from, and would have cut it off at the source._ She paused. _Or… perhaps he'd realize that that topic was too sensitive, and he'd avoid it entirely…_

Cordelia quietly cleared her throat, not turning away from her work. "Severa?"

Severa made a sort of acknowledging grunt.

"How was the battle?" She looked over her shoulder at Severa, smiling slightly. _Small talk. Maybe that's all we need._

Severa didn't turn, however, nor did she even stop packing. "It sucked."

Cordelia tilted her head. "What happened?"

"It just wasn't a fun fight."

"That's too bad. You seemed to be enjoying yourself when you were slaying Roro's duplicates."

"That…" Severa paused, if only for an instant. Then, back to work. "…The masked guys weren't fodder. Weren't being treated that way, at least."

Cordelia was almost ecstatic. _Pleasant conversation! Pleasant conversation with my daughter! Someone pinch me!_ "O-Oh?"

"Yeah." Severa finished filling up a box, and she slammed it shut, leaving the noise ringing in the tent. "They had a healer. Wouldn't back down. Had to kill her."

 _That_ was a pinch. Cordelia sobered slightly. "I see…"

Severa shrugged. "No big deal. I-I mean, she was just an Einherjar." She shrugged again; this time, Cordelia caught the forced nonchalance. "Think her name was Natalie, or Latasha or something. …Doesn't matter."

"…I see," Cordelia replied quietly. She almost followed with "It wasn't your fault," or "You did the right thing," or something along those lines, but she bit her tongue—that wouldn't win her any favors with Severa. Instead, she elected to change the subject. "Well, _I_ thought you looked heroic. Did you know your father wanted to leave the side of Lord Roy just to fight beside you?"

"Whatever."

Cordelia giggled. "He told me afterwards, 'Cordelia! Daughter is amazing Hero! Why you not choose to be Mercenary, eh? Make whole family alike!'"

Severa tried her very hardest—face turning red and everything—to not give her mother the satisfaction of laughter at the spot-on impression. It did rob her of productivity for a few moments, as she leaned against the same box, facing down, mouth screwed shut with all the determination she had.

After a moment, she finally let out a choking sputter of a chuckle.

Cordelia glanced over at her, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I'm f-fine." Severa wiped her mouth and resumed her work.

"Mm."

Silence reigned once again.

Cordelia sighed. _Severa lost Natasha. She was close to that Einherjar, b-but that old man, he—_

She froze, fighting her emotions in much the same way that Severa had been a moment prior. Though this was an entirely different, opposite emotion.

 _Catria,_ Cordelia thought weakly.

She had briefly dueled the pegasus knight. She'd even tried calling out to the middle sister of the Whitewings—tried to get her to remember. But that was gone.

 _'Even if the real Catria couldn't, this one can grow past this feeling. This is not meaningless.'_

 _Perhaps I was wrong, then._

It wasn't long before Cordelia found her job completed. Her bedroll was folded, her clothes were all put away, her personal items and such were secured… She even had time to run another count, and still Severa hadn't caught up.

Cordelia turned toward Severa and began to approach. "I've finished, so would you let me help you?"

Severa huffed irritably. "I don't _need_ your help, Mother."

Cordelia hesitated. _What would Robin say?_ "…I know you don't _need_ my help, but this makes it go faster."

"I'll pack at my own pace, thanks."

 _Okay, NOW what?_ "This isn't _about_ you, Severa. We need to be out of here as soon as possible." _…I hope?_

Severa didn't reply for a moment. "…Fine, whatever. Just don't get in my way." She shot Cordelia a fiery glare. "…And I don't fold my shirts six-by-six, just so you know. So don't get any funny ideas."

"O… Okay."

Cordelia moved to Severa's side, quietly helping her along.

 _That stings a little. She KNOWS I like to fold my shirts that way…!_

* * *

As the majority of the Shepherds packed their belongings for the return trip to Old Hubba's mansion, an identical situation played itself out four different times.

At the Annas' warning (and Sumia's firsthand experience), they each thought they knew what to expect, and each lowered themselves into the Bath Elixir with trepidation.

For Nowi's turn, she reacted with a yelp, and she fled from the bath. It took several minutes of coaxing from her husband before she would try again, and Libra still had to hold her down until the pain faded.

Nah was next. She didn't want to rely on her father to keep her steady, so she clutched her towel tightly, braced herself, and lowered herself into the water.

Tiki and Chrom both waited outside—and exchanged an uncomfortable glance when they heard Nah's squeals of "Ow! _Ow!_ _OW!"_ from within.

Nah's face was flushed red when she finally exited the tent. She smoothed out her dress and walked past Chrom and Tiki without meeting their eyes.

"Ladies first?" Chrom chuckled weakly. Tiki laughed as well, and tried to accept, but Chrom waved it away. "I'm joking. You should take a longer bath, given how strongly the Sickness seems to affect you, so I'll go first to let you have more time after."

"As… As you wish, Lord Chrom."

Chrom entered the tent. Libra had drained the previous bath and filled a new one, and was measuring out a handful of the Elixir's powder.

Chrom waited hesitantly, watching as Libra methodically drizzled the powder across the water, and then began to stir it with a pole.

"I-I'll take it from here."

"Very well, Your Eminence." Libra handed the stirring pole to Chrom, and he left the tent.

Chrom swirled the water around, staring at it uncomfortably.

"So you're the super healing stuff, huh?" he mumbled. "Takes a lot to make a Manakete scream in pain like that…"

He let the pole rest, feeling the concoction had been stirred enough, and he hesitantly undressed. He hissed quietly at the touch of cloth against his wound, but he braved it and eventually disrobed successfully.

Taking the towel Libra had left for him and wrapping it around his waist, Chrom stepped into the water one foot at a time. Odd tingles traced up his toes to his ankle—not altogether unpleasant, and honestly Chrom couldn't tell if he was fabricating the sensation from his imagination.

 _What is wrong with me?_ Chrom thought suddenly. _I'm a warrior—I need to face this like one! Head on! It's just some water! Stop being afraid of stupid things, Chrom!_

He eased himself down.

Libra and Tiki, standing outside the tent, both winced at the sharpness of Chrom's pained scream.

"Even Chrom," Libra noted, raising his eyebrows.

Tiki sighed.

* * *

Chrom huffed impatiently. He'd been in the bath for nearly twenty minutes, and the pain had mostly subsided. _Mostly._

Looking down at his hip injury—truthfully the thing he was most looking forward to being rid of—he expressed his irritation at its continued stinging with an angry grunt. It didn't even seem to be improving.

"Libra!" Chrom called.

Libra's head poked in, though he tactfully looked at the ground rather than at the half-naked Exalt. "Yes, milord?"

"Get me Sumia," Chrom ordered irately. "I've got a question."

"At once, sir." Libra disappeared.

Chrom tapped his fingers on the rim of the tub as he waited. Giving his wound another look, he tried to check if it was more mobile than before by twisting himself slightly. After the agonizing, fiery pain died down, he decided that a second attempt wouldn't be necessary.

The tent flap moved, and Sumia's head appeared, her gaze similarly averted. "What's the matter, Captain?"

Chrom was pleased to hear that. 'Captain,' from Sumia. It had been too long. However, his current frustration tarnished his satisfaction in the moment.

"The Bath Elixir isn't doing anything about my injury," he said irritably. "How long is it supposed to take?"

Sumia furrowed her eyebrows in thought. "Hmm… Well, Grima stabbed me in the leg, so that's comparable, right? It took two hours or so before it was back in perfect shape, though that was after a week of natural healing."

"Two hours…" Chrom muttered to himself. Then, to Sumia, "Well, how long before you could tell it was taking effect?"

Sumia blinked. "A… a matter of minutes. It _always_ throbbed, Captain. Twenty-four hours a day. When I entered the Bath Elixir, though, it stopped hurting halfway through my conversation with Blue."

"Yeah, well—this is _not_ doing that," Chrom snapped. "Whatever. I'll worry about it later." He began to pick himself up out of the water.

Sumia flushed red. Her gaze fixated even more strongly on the ground rather than on Chrom. "Chr-Chrom—just let it heal, okay? Take your time."

"No." Assured that his towel was affixed around his waist, Chrom exited the tub. "Tiki needs it more than me. If this is enough to cure Outrealm Sickness, then that's enough for me—at least for now."

"Ah… if you insist. Excuse me…" Sumia retreated out of the tent, leaving Chrom alone again.

Chrom's face glowed with irritation as he carefully worked his way back into his armor.

* * *

Preparations were nearly complete. The Shepherds' camp was still quietly bustling along, uprooting tents and hauling luggage into the convoy. Chrom found himself without work for the moment (at the insistence of the many more able-bodied Shepherds) so he simply leaned against a tree, staring at the Outrealm Gate silently glowing a short walk ahead of him.

The Outrealm Gate was a challenge, he realized. He perceived the Outrealm Gate as the future—the goal—but also an impediment to that goal. An obstacle to be overcome.

 _If I was a smarter man, I could probably find a metaphor in that,_ Chrom thought to himself, chuckling weakly. _I'll just leave that to the historians._ He settled for looking at the sky: a calm blue void that _didn't_ fill him with anxiety. He clicked his tongue when he saw how low the sun was hanging; today had simultaneously been very short, and very, very long.

When Chrom's eyes eventually returned to the Outrealm Gate, he noticed two figures approaching from it. One of them appeared to be pushing some sort of…

"Lord Chrom!" said Seliph brightly as he approached. He and Lena both wore smiles. "We can't thank you enough for your help. Truly."

"Milord, we are in your debt," Lena added. "It took us a century to escape that madman… and now, thanks to you, we are finally, _truly_ free."

"All in a day's work," Chrom replied. "Anyway… what's with that?"

"Ah! It's an olive branch, you see." Seliph pushed the wheelchair closer. "Marth _did_ say he's told you the whole truth, so… on his behalf, we would like to offer you this, at least until your wound heals. It came from Old Hubba's mansion."

"A _wheelchair?"_ Chrom murmured tiredly. "Your Highness, I appreciate the offer, but—"

"There is no shame in it," Lena insisted, with a serious expression. "Milord, your injury is no light matter. You require rest. This allows you to remain mobile without aggravating your injury further. Just because it happened a whole day ago doesn't mean it's too late for it to get infected! In fact, if you'd let me look at it right now—"

Chrom stayed her with a gentle hand. "That won't be necessary. I accept your gift." _Too tired to argue this again… and I appreciate the sentiment regardless._

Lena and Seliph both beamed.

* * *

Maribelle had been equally pleased that Chrom had accepted the wheelchair. Now, her hands rested on the grips of the chair as she, as well as most of the rest of the Shepherds, waited with apprehension for news from the other side.

A form appeared from the Outrealm Gate—soon revealed to be Morgan, beaming from ear to ear and nearly jumping in excitement.

"It worked!" she cheered. "Nah's totally fine!"

The Shepherds gave a laid-back cheer, and the tension disappeared.

"That's wonderful news, dear," Maribelle whispered to her husband. Chrom gave an affirmative grunt.

Sure enough, when he was pushed through the Gate himself, he didn't feel the characteristic pressure the travel usually exerted on his chest. He easily kept his breath, and the swirling lights didn't induce so much as a headache.

"Well?" Maribelle asked as they alighted on green earth.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Hardly even felt it."

Pity entered Maribelle's eyes. "…Seems it's difficult for you to be happy so long as you have that injury, hm?"

"…Yeah."

Maribelle quietly wheeled Chrom away from the Outrealm Gate, towards the mansion looming in the distance.

* * *

A mass of dozens filled the lawn before Chrom, who was alone on the mansion's front porch. Chrom felt uncharacteristic unease in his chest; this was far from the first time he had made a speech in front of such a large group, after all, so why…?

He shifted uncomfortably in the wheelchair— _that_ was it. He hated sitting like this. Made him feel smaller, less confident. But he didn't exactly have a choice.

These people were friends, though. His eyes met face after familiar face, and his confidence slowly returned.

He cleared his throat. "Shepherds, we've had a… well, a long couple of weeks, to say the least. From Grima returning, to the preparations for our journey into the Outrealms, to the Einherjar War, it seems like we haven't had a moment's rest since June. Well, tonight, we're going to have that moment's rest. You— _all_ of you—have more than earned a little celebration. Now that the Einherjar War has ended, we finally have the time for it, and more than enough reason." He smiled widely. "Plus, we have a very special birthday boy among us. But we'll properly embarrass Inigo later." He gestured a thumb at the mansion's front door behind him. "Tonight's agenda: feast, party a little, and then have some hard-earned sleep. Don't overwork yourselves, because we're leaving for the Springrealm tomorrow." He faced the door. "Now, let's get inside."

* * *

"Raidin' _my_ pantry… Eatin' _my_ food…"

Basilio rolled his eyes. Old Hubba had been grumbling to himself like this during the whole walk, and it hadn't eased up upon entering the mansion. The West Khan was now leading Old Hubba to the basement; in lieu of a dungeon, the wine cellar would have to do. Old Hubba was handcuffed and would soon be attached to the wall, but his motions were stiff and uncomfortable thanks to the injury Sumia had given him, so he wasn't much of a threat regardless.

"Gods, have some humility in defeat, wouldja?" Basilio rumbled, grinning. "Plus, Chrom was nice to ya. Alive for another day, eh?"

"Spoken like someone who knows how ta lose," the old man muttered. "An' now I'm all disappointed. Y'know the only thing that's died so far is Leila? She's the only one I got!" He pouted.

Basilio frowned. "You're a weird one, old man. You sound more, uh… more glum than angry."

"Eh." Old Hubba waved it away. "Ya win some, ya lose some. Guess yer right, One-Eye, I should just take the loss."

Basilio beamed. "Bahaha! That's the spirit!" He roughly patted Old Hubba on the shoulder in approval. "Now I'm no expert on _redemption,_ but—"

"Whoa-ho there, big guy," Old Hubba chuckled. "One thing at a time! I'm still in the 'gettin' over the loss' phase."

"Can't blame me for tryin', can ya?"

* * *

The dining room was quieter than Chrom had expected it to be. The table was packed with Shepherds, and though small conversations were scattered throughout the table, it certainly lacked the festiveness of the dinner following the battle at the Dragon's Gate.

Suited Chrom just fine. He was sitting at the head of the table, but they had actually moved the table's chair aside to allow him to stay in his wheelchair instead. _Eating dinner in this little prison,_ he thought irritably, jostling himself into a more comfortable position. Oh well. With the dinner quiet like this, he could properly think to himself, and…

…The more Chrom tried to force himself to prefer the quiet, the more he missed the frivolity. Sure, _he_ wasn't in the best of moods, but it definitely wouldn't hurt if the _others_ were more cheerful.

Couldn't fault them for it, of course. The whole "Old Hubba's a rat bastard" thing had taken them by surprise, and it had been a long, long couple of days.

Chrom sighed, and resigned himself to—

Clamor from the opposite side of the table stole his attention, as well as that of the rest of the Shepherds. Gregor was climbing atop his chair, wine glass in hand, a resolute expression on his face.

The foreign mercenary looked over the table. "Why everyone is being so glum?!" he exclaimed, seemingly indignant. "Do Shepherds not realize what this is meaning? Einherjar War is _over,_ friends! Victory is ours for seemingly thousandth time, eh? Let us _celebrate!_ Drinks, raise drinks!" He raised his own wine glass, and waited as the rest of the Shepherds followed suit.

Chrom smiled slightly, and raised his glass high.

"To another war under Shepherds' collective belt!"

"Hear, hear," a few voices echoed.

"To finding of Robin soon!"

"Hear, hear!" Several more voices joined in that time.

"And, now for most important thing…" Gregor turned to face someone else at the table, grinned widely, and gestured at him with the drink in his hand. "To young birthday boy of today, who deserves lots of the celebrating! Happiest birthday, Inigo!"

"Hear, hear!" echoed the entirety of the Shepherds present, and suddenly the entire attitude of the feast shifted. Dishes clinking, voices raising, and the smiles… Chrom felt a little warm, seeing those.

He sat back in his wheelchair and enjoyed the hubbub of the room. Bits of other conversations floated into his ears—stories they hadn't had the chance to tell.

"…And I almost fell off my horse, I was so amazed!" Stahl laughed. "I mean, Ephraim and Eirika were moving like water! In _sync!_ Wish that _I_ had that sort of…"

"…Bahaha! It was a fight for the _ages!_ My Ragnell and the legendary Ike's, fighting as one? Our foes stood nary a chance…"

"…Like, like that time at the Dragon's Gate fight," Lissa chattered, patting her husband on the arm eagerly. "Vaike was all 'look at me I'm a teacher or something,' and BOOM, I snuck in with a Bolt Axe! Haha! Ol' Hector never saw it coming!..."

"…So yeah, I was just in the middle of the chamber, and the Einherjar just about had me cornered. But suddenly, what comes sliding right towards me but a handy little shield?" Smirking, Gaius waved down the table at Chrom. "Hey bud, thanks again for the Fire Emblem!"

"No problem," Chrom called back with a grin. "Glad you didn't get any scratches on it."

The table laughed, and so did Chrom.

He settled down, still wearing a smile. He just looked over the Shepherds. Tharja and Lon'qu were trying to look antisocial in the corner; Nowi was trying to pull Libra into a conversation; Miriel was having some sort of intellectual discussion with Laurent…

Chrom's smile twitched. _When's the last time we've all been together like this? Sure, yesterday's dinner, but before that?_ He exhaled. _Was it… the postwar celebrations? No, even by then, a lot of them had already disappeared. I guess… everyone kind of lost touch after the war, didn't they?_

He looked at Gerome, and Panne, and Flavia.

 _It almost feels like a reunion._ His smile was growing bittersweet. _Like our story already ended, and we're back for one last hurrah._

Chrom noticed Inigo; he was currently spreading his infectious laughter, seeming to enjoy the attention for once.

 _When we find Robin, what then?_ Chrom wondered. _Do we all scatter once again? Disappear to the four winds? I don't love war, but I love the Shepherds. It's a shame that we only unite in times like these._

He thought of Marth's original story. A hundred heroes united under one roof. Done with war, done with misery. Just life—life and companionship.

Chrom's train of thought chugged along Marth's story, before making a stop at Marth's odd relationship with Caeda. He frowned, curious as to how _that_ would go down now that the air was cleared. He shrugged it off, however; it wasn't his business.

At that thought, Chrom searched the room for Sumia, and fortunately, she wasn't too hard to find. Unfortunately, she was currently engaged in conversation with probably a quarter of the table. _Guess I'll wait._

She seemed elated to be back. When Chrom remembered how Sumia had been following the death of the dissonant Grima, he couldn't help but smile at her rejuvenated self.

"This seat taken?"

Chrom glanced up to see Cordelia hovering over the seat nearby, holding a wineglass. "Of course," he said amiably, pulling out the chair.

Cordelia took a seat. "I was trying to talk to Sumia, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise, what with all the attention she's getting," she laughed. "The Shepherds are almost back at full strength, hm?"

"Yep. One to go."

"Heh." Cordelia took a sip of her drink. "Poor girl. She'll probably be held up deep into the night in conversation."

"Yeah. She's going to share a room with her daughters, and knowing them…"

Chrom and Cordelia chuckled.

"Cordelia," Chrom said, "would you extend my compliments to Severa? I know she's been… less than agreeable lately, but her performance on the battlefield today was exemplary. The way Morgan spins it, Severa was essential."

Cordelia smiled pleasantly. "If I get the opportunity, I'll certainly relay that."

She and Chrom fell quiet for a moment, just listening to the festivities.

Chrom noticed Severa sitting farther down the table. Her arms were crossed and her eyes were averted, very staunchly not partaking in the cheer.

"…How are you two, by the way?" Chrom asked softly.

"Better," Cordelia unenthusiastically answered, whilst watching Severa from a distance. "I mean, we had what was almost a conversation earlier. That was…" She took a breath. "It felt like a dream."

"Hey."

Cordelia looked at him curiously.

"You'll work things out," Chrom asserted. "I believe in you and Severa. You'll be just fine, I know it."

Cordelia found herself lost in Chrom's inspiring gaze, and felt a familiar fluttering in her heart. She then shook her head quickly, brushing off those antiquated feelings. _Honestly, Cordelia, are you a child?_ "Thank you, milord. I think I needed to hear that."

"Do she and her father get along well?"

"Inexplicably." Cordelia sighed. "She's so open with him, yet won't give me the time of day." She paused. "Though I suppose the only thing that's really _open_ between them is Gregor's wallet…"

Chrom chuckled.

* * *

Brady was seated close to the door, so he was the first to notice when someone was trying to exit. Frowning, he left the table and followed her out.

He closed the door behind himself; the well-lit dining hall had disguised the passage of time, so he was surprised to find that night had quite thoroughly fallen over the mansion.

"Luce?" he asked quietly. Up ahead, his sister turned, startled.

Lucina put a hand over her heart, sighing in relief. "Goodness, Brady, are you trying to tax my heart?"

"Heh. Naw." Brady put his hands in his pockets as he approached. "Leavin' so soon? I was thinkin' about turnin' in myself, and if yer turnin' in too then I won't feel so bad about leavin' the party."

Lucina was on the verge of going along with that. However, she bit her tongue. _This is my brother._ "No… well, I admit that I _am_ fatigued, but that's not what I'm doing. I was walking to the infirmary."

"Mm." Brady bobbed his head. "Checkin' on Marth, then."

"Yes. I haven't spoken with him since…"

Lucina let the end of the sentence hang.

Intending to change the subject, she tilted her head. "I'm sorry to see you leave the festivities so soon, Brady. You deserve rest, of course, but you could certainly use some of the cheer."

"Yer callin' _me_ grumpy?" Brady chuckled. "I ain't never _seen_ a blacker kettle than you."

Lucina blinked. "A-Assuming you're referencing the idiom, then wouldn't I be the pot?"

Brady groaned. "Whatever, Lucina! Point is, yer in a glass house or something, and shouldn't throw rocks. Or something."

Lucina rubbed her chin. "…I believe I've _heard_ that one before, but…"

Brady facepalmed. "Just—Just go talk ta Marth."

"Very well." Lucina started to turn away, but she paused. "Brady?"

"Huh?"

Lucina smiled. "Do you recall when we were younger? Do you remember my eleventh birthday?"

Brady blinked. "Wha… That long ago?"

"Do you?"

Brady sighed. "…Yeah, I remember."

"You forgot to get me a present that year," Lucina said. "What you did for me instead was much better than any gift, though. If you're up for it, I'm certain Inigo would appreciate the same."

The princess turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing throughout the dark, empty halls of the mansion. It wasn't long before she disappeared into the shadows.

Brady shook his head, smiling in bewilderment. "How does she remember that…?"

He glanced behind him at the door to the dining hall. Light, as well as sound, leaked out of the room.

Brady reached for the doorknob and very slightly opened the dining hall's door. He then turned away and moved toward the stairs, heading up to his room.

* * *

A candle was lit, spreading a warm glow throughout the infirmary. Marth blinked awake and forced himself to sit up and look composed for his guest. He wasn't exactly dressed well—barely dressed at all, in fact—but he did what he could.

"Good evening, Your Highness." Lucina smiled softly as she sat at the foot of Marth's bed.

"L-Lucina?" Marth stammered. "What… To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was hardly a whisper. The infirmary was empty aside from her and Marth, but it was so dimly, peacefully lit that she didn't want to break the silence too harshly.

Marth smiled. "Thank you for your concern, milady. I'm quite all right. I believe I'll be in top form come morning, thanks to the work of your healers."

"You and the rest of the Einherjar are coming with us, right?" Lucina asked. "The rest are mingling elsewhere in the mansion, I'd imagine, since none of them joined the Shepherds at the feast."

"If Sir Chrom and Lady Morgan wish it, then they shall come," said Marth plainly. "The Einherjar are theirs, of course."

They were quiet for a moment.

"I-I heard your story," said Lucina. "Secondhand, I mean. My father relayed it to me last night."

Marth winced. "Lucina… the story I told yesterday was incomplete. There was more to it than that."

"I… thought so."

"Then, you share your father's skepticism, it seems."

"Hmhm… Perhaps not quite as much. I couldn't shake the feeling that the story was a little too clean, however."

Marth swallowed. "…Indeed. I suppose you'd like me to relay the truth, then…"

"That isn't necessary."

Marth's eyes returned to her with surprise. "Pardon?"

Lucina smiled once more. "You have told my father, yes? If he knows, then he will tell me when the time is right."

"Lucina—" Marth leaned forward slightly, an urgent look in his eyes. "Lucina, no one deserves to know more than you. I… I caused you heartache beyond what I inflicted on the others."

Lucina's expression twitched. He was right, she knew. Yet, the pain in her chest hadn't relented. The guilt remained, even in spite of the truth.

"I played with your feelings," Marth stated. "I manipulated you. I specifically targeted you to relay the message to Seliph. Do you yet exempt me from blame, Lucina?"

Lucina's eyes turned away. "I can't fault you your actions, Marth. You did what needed to be done."

"You can't be serious."

Lucina frowned, glancing at him. She could be mistaken, but she thought she'd noticed a hint of pleading to his tone.

Grimacing, hugging an arm to his wound, Marth sat forward to stare more intensely into his descendant's eyes. "Lucina, why must you be so forgiving? You mustn't treat me so gently for having the appearance of your ancestor. I am not Marth."

"But you are."

Marth paused, readying an argument.

"You are Marth," continued Lucina, in a small voice. "Prince Marth, descendent of Anri, the man who would become the legendary Hero-King."

Marth's next breath vanished.

Lucina's expression was solemn; her gaze moved to the darkness. "…You _are_ an ancestor I can be proud of, Your Highness. We've all made mistakes…"

Her eyes finally returned to him. Steadily, resolutely, she concluded, "The difference is what you make of yourself henceforth. And that, Prince Marth, I leave to you in full confidence."

Marth's thoughts had disappeared: gone into the winds. "L-Lucina…"

"Prince Marth." Lucina gently lifted off of his bedside. Smoothing out her tunic, she turned back. "Good night."

But, before she could return to the darkness, Marth was able to pull himself together and form a new thought: "Lucina, wait."

She paused. Marth marveled at the nobility of her poise—the lone candle in the tenebrous infirmary cast her in a heroic light.

Marth turned his attention to the table at the side of his bed, at the inconspicuous object lying on top. Lucina followed his gaze.

Her fingers twitched, as did her stoic expression.

Marth placed a hand atop his card. "…Lucina, come closer."

As she slowly complied, Marth took the item between his fingers and faced her. "This card is yours, Lucina. Take it."

Lucina was uncomprehending. "But…"

"Take it, Princess Lucina."

Lucina shook her head. "No… you keep it, Marth. I appreciate the symbolism, but it is entirely unnecessary…"

"Please," said Marth. He placed an anxious fist over his bandaged chest, as if grabbing the hidden wound. "Old Hubba struck me down… How do I know if he defeated me?"

Lucina paused to process that. "Y… You didn't surrender… so that should be enough, right?"

"I must be certain." Marth stuck the card forward, determination in his eyes. "Lucina, I knowingly and willingly surrender to you. Please—take good care of me."

Lucina watched the offering with a conflicted expression. It took a moment, but in the end, she did indeed accept.

Marth felt a weight ease off of his shoulders as the card left his hands. It could have been imagined.

Lucina became suddenly grateful for the darkness; the longer she stared at the card, the more her hand trembled.

"Thank you."

Both said the words at once.

After an instant of shock, the lords both broke into much-needed smiles.

"…Good night, Marth."

"Likewise, Lucina."

* * *

"Shh. Do you hear that?"

A portion of the dining room table became quiet.

"No?" said Virion. "What seems to be the matter?"

"Hey!" Ricken called out, and other conversations lulled. "Everyone, be quiet for a sec!"

Though glances were exchanged, the rest of the room humored the young mage.

All was still for a moment.

Cherche broke the silence first, her eyes moving curiously to the partially-open door. "Is that…?"

"A violin," Panne stated, her ears twitching. "It's coming from the ballroom, if you're curious."

Chrom frowned. "We have a ballroom?" _How much of this mansion have I never seen?_

"I _am_ curious, now thatcha mention it," Donnel said, as a smile began to grow on his face. To his wife's chagrin, he stood, offered a hand to her, and asked, "Care for a dance?"

Olivia flushed entirely red, but of her options, accepting was the least embarrassing. "O-Okay…"

The dining room watched, bemused, as Donnel led Olivia by the hand out the door. There was a brief pause, but another arm caught the door before it closed.

"How about you, Miriel?" said Kellam, hovering by the exit. "Want to dance?"

Miriel adjusted her glasses. "…If this happens, it will become a trend. Probability suggests that the others will follow us to the ballroom should you commit to this. Kellam: answer me one question." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you willing to accept the ramifications of your decision?"

The knight scratched his head. "Uh, I just wanted to dance, really…"

Miriel sighed. "As you wish." She stood from her chair. "I suppose it's been some time since we've had such a romantic occasion."

"P-Please leave it at that, Miriel." He offered her his arm, which she took, and the two left the room as well.

There was another pause.

"…Welp, Teach would hate to prove Miriel wrong!" Vaike noisily pushed himself away from the table. "Y'all comin' too?"

A sudden commotion of moving chairs filled the room as the rest of the Shepherds followed them out, some more reluctant than others.

Chrom sighed, wheelchair-bound and helplessly watching the others abandon him. However, to his relief, he was able to catch Lissa's eye and wordlessly inform her of his plight; she smiled wanly and moved to help him, pushing against the flow of exiting Shepherds.

The dining room had fallen quiet by the time she'd circled around the table to him. The silence was replaced by the clicking of his wheelchair as Lissa pulled him away from the table and worked toward the door.

"A moment of peace," Lissa giggled quietly. _"That's_ a rarity. …Say, Chrom, when's the last time you and I haven't been too busy to talk?" She looked down at his mess of hair. "I mean _actually_ talk, obviously."

"A long time, for sure," Chrom agreed. "It's been all work and no play since we found Grima in that field."

"For sure. And even longer since it's been us and Emm."

"You're right… We don't see her for almost seven months, and she gets back just in time for another adventure." He sighed.

"Yeah. That really sucks, huh?"

Lissa, absentminded, didn't realize that it's not polite to use a wheelchair to open a door. Chrom winced, growling a reprimanding "Lissa…"

"Oh. Sorry 'bout that."

…

The simple symphony of a lone violin permeated the halls outside the dining room. If they couldn't hear it before, they could now.

Chrom smiled at the sweet noise. _How nostalgic. That must be him._

"No time like the present, right?" Lissa suddenly said. "How are things, Chrom?"

"Hm? Ah, well, things are okay, I guess. Glad the Einherjar business is wrapped up."

Lissa leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. "Any personal secrets to divulge?"

"N-Not really." Chrom flinched away. "Don't do that."

Lissa leaned back and continued pushing, disgruntled. "You need to have more fun, Chrom."

"It's hard to have fun when my nose is constantly stuck in affairs that matter."

"Huh, 'affairs that matter.' Never heard that euphemism before."

Chrom rolled his eyes, but couldn't help a tiny grin.

Lissa followed the music to its source, the only sound besides the faint violin being the rolling of wheels against the floorboards. Turning down a hallway, she and Chrom could easily pinpoint the ballroom as the important-looking doors at the far end of the hall, the ones with light peeking out.

"How about you?" Chrom asked. "Have any stories to tell, yourself?"

Lissa gave a brief sigh. "Y'know, we've been in a lot of fights lately, but I've still had a lot of time to myself, y'know? No, I don't really have any stories to tell, but I've had a lot of time to think."

"What about?"

Lissa paused, gathering her words. "…What comes after. You know—peace. I, ah… After the end of the war, I didn't really have much to… to do."

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed. He understood perfectly what she was saying—Lissa, bored; go figure—but her manner of speech, her hesitance, implied that there was more to it than that.

"Are you saying you preferred the war?" Chrom ventured.

"No! No."

Lissa slowed down as she neared the doors, and released the wheelchair's handles; Chrom turned himself around to face her.

Lissa folded her arms with apparent discomfort. "The war was awful, Chrom. I wanted it to end."

"Then was it… Was it about our allies?" Chrom gestured at the door behind him. "Did you miss them?"

"I—Maybe?" Lissa threw her hands up. "I don't know! All I know is that I _didn't_ feel unhappy after the war with Plegia. Even though that peace was TWICE as long as it's been since Grima died, I didn't feel—uh—I didn't feel like…" She trailed off, clearly frustrated at her inability to articulate.

Chrom tilted his head, frowning, and waited for her to compose her thoughts.

Her arms were now crossed a little more irritably, and she looked away. "It's like… last time, even though that war was over… even though we'd just lost Emmeryn… there was still such a bright future, right?" Her eyes darted over to Chrom, then back into the darkness. "You were Exalt… all our friends were still around…"

Her voice fell to a faint whisper. "I was _single…"_

Not too faint to escape Chrom, whose eyebrows raised in response. "What?" He leaned forward slightly. "Lissa… do you not love Vaike?"

"Of course I do!" Lissa exclaimed defensively. "I love him so much! It's not that I don't love him, it's that I'm _married."_ Her cheeks flushed with color. "Gods—that's still not what I mean! I mean—I mean, when I was single, it felt like I had so much left to do, it felt like I was _young._ "

"You _are_ young, Lissa."

"But I don't _feel_ like it!" Lissa's face was still red, but her arms finally fell to her sides—she had found the words she was looking for. "Chrom, it feels like everything's already _happened._ I'm married. We saved the world. Peace is what's next, and it's _all_ that's next."

"Ah…" Chrom finally understood. "So… Once we're done here in the Outrealms, it's all over. We return home to our quiet lives… everyone scatters across the world. We might not see any of them again."

Lissa turned her eyes downward. "So… you've been thinking about the same stuff, huh?"

Chrom grimaced.

Lissa took a shaking breath. "…S-Sorry, Chrom. I guess I just wanted to come clean, talk to somebody about it."

"Lissa," Chrom said suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow, we're going to a Harvest Festival," he said determinedly. "You, me, and Emmeryn. The rest of the Shepherds, too."

It took a moment for her to comprehend, but when she did, Lissa's expression lit up. "That—That's _awesome!"_ She laughed, hugging her brother. "Thanks, Chrom!"

Chrom winced, patting her back. "Hey, not too tight…"

"Sorry." Lissa backed off. "Listen… Could you not tell anyone about the things I said?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, bro." Her cheer suddenly returned—forced or not—and she faced the doors. "Now. Let's get _dancing!"_

She pushed the door open (with her hands, this time, and pulling Chrom through after), revealing a sprawling ballroom.

Lissa's smile grew wider, and her eyes starry, as she absorbed the massive room. "Ha ha! Man, Chrom, your son's a real guy, huh?"

Sure enough, on a dais at the far end of the ballroom sat Brady, his eyes closed peacefully as he continued to work his instrument in isolation.

"He sure is," Chrom replied.

Lissa watched the many couples slow-dancing throughout the room. "Oh, wow," she began, excitement hitting her tone, "I have a chance to actually slow dance with Vaike for once!"

She rolled Chrom against the wall. After ascertaining his comfort, she said brightly, "Talk to you later, Chrom!" before disappearing in search of her husband.

Chrom smiled, sitting back and taking in the peaceful scenery. "Have fun," he murmured to the air.

To the kind melody of Brady's violin, an impromptu slow dance took hold of the Shepherds.

* * *

Nah wriggled uncomfortably on her toes. She had been in the "reluctant" group, dragged along with the rest of the more-enthusiastic Shepherds to the dance. When she had been walking toward the ballroom, she had entertained the idea of escaping in the darkness to her bedroom—until she saw that the only other person with the gall to do that was Severa. _It's probably for the best that I don't follow her example._

So now, like many others, she stood awkwardly at the fringe of the dance floor, waiting for… the end of the festivities, perhaps, or maybe just someone to talk to. Morgan was nowhere to be found at the moment, unfortunately.

What she wasn't expecting, however, was someone asking her:

"Mind if I take this dance?"

Nah blinked, wide-eyed, at the hand Libra was offering her. "F-Father?"

Libra smiled warmly.

Nah glanced around at the others standing on the fringe, to realize that the number of "others" had been steadily dwindling as they accepted similar invitations.

Nervously, Nah took her father's hand.

Libra chuckled.

* * *

Cynthia's face was bright red, most likely a shade of red she had never seen on a face before.

"Uh—Uh—"

Inigo didn't waver, his hand and his smile steady as he awaited her answer.

"O-Okay."

Cynthia slid her palm over his, and felt him squeeze it reassuringly.

* * *

"Maribelle," said Chrom with a calm smile. "Hey."

Maribelle was smiling as well, hiding a hint of mischief; her hands were clasped behind her back as she approached.

"Hello," she replied softly. She unclasped her hands, reaching out to Chrom with one. "May I have this dance, milord?"

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed curiously, wondering if she was serious, but his smile didn't falter. He removed a hand from his armrest and brushed his fingers against hers. She smiled at his acceptance.

Maribelle took his other hand and, maintaining eye contact, began to gently sway from side to side, mimicking the slow dance being performed a dozen times over elsewhere in the ballroom. Chrom smiled in understanding, and though he was unable to follow along, he matched her gaze and her smile.

Maribelle bent forward, putting her lips to his ear. "I couldn't bear to leave you out of this, dear," she whispered.

He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against hers, if only for a moment. "I really appreciate it." He moved his head and allowed her to stand straight once more. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

This time, her expression reflected the words, and she continued her dance in place.

* * *

Emmeryn rested her cheek atop Frederick's shoulder and closed her eyes. She and her knight swayed slowly to Brady's gentle tune.

"Do…" Emmeryn whispered quietly—the first word she had spoken since accepting the dance. She felt Frederick shift slightly in curiosity. "…Do you remember what you said?"

"Of course I do."

 _Of course he does,_ Emmeryn thought solemnly. _Dancing so intimately, how could he not know what I speak of?_

"In the gardens… in Ylisstol." Her voice was faint, and she felt as if she could fall asleep like this. It had been a long day, yes… but there was no denying this feeling of safety. "You remember your proposition to me, yes?"

Frederick's fingers adjusted to link through Emmeryn's more comfortably. He seemed to be taking that time to find a response. "…What of it, milady?" he asked in a measured tone.

"Nothing," Emmeryn almost said, but she didn't. Rather, she let his question hang: let their pleasant dance continue uninterrupted. She wasn't sure why she'd brought it up, herself. She couldn't forget the answer she'd given him. _Perhaps I'm more exhausted than I believed._

So she changed the subject. "Sir Frederick, I must thank you for your service to me. For the last seven months, you've been… you've been a most valuable companion."

Another pause from Frederick, perhaps as he tried to decipher the correlation between her previous sentences. He finally settled with, "Thank you, Lady Emmeryn."

"You've continued to help me… even after we returned," resumed Emmeryn. "Even here, in the Outrealms, you always stay by me, a constant vigil, in combat and out…"

Frederick frowned. Emmeryn's head nestled securely into his shoulder.

"We are not traveling the world anymore," Emmeryn continued without pause. "My journey is done… You needn't remain affixed to my side any longer."

"Ah, but I was never relieved of my duty," the knight claimed. "My position as your bodyguard was never lifted, Your Highness, so I continue my efforts even now."

That brought a smile to Emmeryn's face, and then laughter. She buried her head into his shoulder to muffle herself.

She briefly pulled up for air. "Ah! Ah, what a Frederick thing to say…" Emmeryn lifted her hand from his other shoulder to wipe her eyes, before returning it to its position. Her smile seemed to be permanent.

The pair swayed quietly. Even Frederick wore a small, coy smile; however, though slowly, it did fade.

"Then… Lady Emmeryn. Do you wish to relieve me of that duty?"

Emmeryn's smile adopted a degree of melancholy. The answer Sir Frederick wanted was painfully obvious to Emmeryn, but her own wish was much less so.

The smile returned in full, and she shook her head, her gilded hair brushing against the knight's neck. "…I leave you to your own devices, Sir Frederick."

With a glance up, Emmeryn caught a hint of a reciprocated smile on Frederick's face. "I understand, milady. I'll act… as I see fit."

"I would have it no other way."

The pair fell silent once again, both wearing small, pleased smiles and continuing to sway in an ambiguous dance.

* * *

Whenever Nah closed her eyes, she could see the hint of his smirk, the Grima in his eyes. She hated herself for it. She'd successfully avoided thinking of that dream since the other day, but now… dancing with her father, she couldn't help but remember the last time they'd directly spoken.

 _'I'm your father, you know. You may always come to me if anything troubles you.'_

Yet, she'd been avoiding him for gods knew how long. The last couple days, of course—even in times they'd been near each other, she'd been able to dodge conversation—but of course it went farther than that, deeper than that.

She furtively glanced up at him, but he was obviously already watching her with a paternal smile, and she quickly looked back down. Maintaining eye contact is just one of those things, apparently.

She wondered why he hadn't said anything yet. He was just smiling at her, infuriatingly. She had expected some questions, maybe a "Why have you been avoiding me?" Or hey, maybe "Why have you been avoiding me AND your mother?" to be inclusive. But, no questions. Okay: acceptable. But not even _small talk?_ She thought he'd try to break the ice somehow, but he was entirely silent.

Nah had overheard Cordelia talking to Chrom earlier; she and Severa had apparently had a conversation a couple hours ago. _But in that situation, Cordelia initiated,_ Nah thought sourly. _Apparently I'M the one who has to initiate with MY dad, gawds._

Nah blinked. _Did I just think "gawds"? And am I really comparing myself to SEVERA?_ She took a nervous breath. _Something's wrong here._

Nah tried to speak, but her throat was clogged. An "ahem" later, she looked up at Libra. "Uhm, Father…"

"Yes?"

Her hand squeezed anxiously on Libra's shoulder. "About the last few days…" But she cut herself off, shaking her head intensely. "N-No, not just the last few days. Ever since I joined the Shepherds, I, I've been really distant, and um, y-you're my dad, y'know? I… I'm sorry for…"

Libra chuckled quietly, prompting Nah to trail off.

"Nah," Libra began, "there's no need for you to apologize."

Nah rolled her eyes. "You're my father. You need to show some authority. Ground me, or _something."_

Libra laughed again. "How like you to _ask_ for a punishment, even if you don't deserve it."

Nah huffed shortly. "…Why is everyone so free with their forgiveness, Father? I do bad things—I don't act the right way—and then people _let_ me. It isn't right! …Let me _at least_ finish my apology!"

Libra's smile faltered slightly. Perhaps to himself, he murmured, "How… like you, indeed." Then, to Nah, he resumed. "You are not the one at fault, Nah. Circumstances aren't as simple as right and wrong. I trust that you had your reasons to keep me and your mother at arm's length… and someday, I hope to hear what those reasons are." Libra tried to catch her eye. "Perhaps we shall sit down over dinner sometime, just the three of us?"

"That…" Nah began, but her throat was clogged. "A-Ahem… That s-sounds great, Father…"

Libra noted the way her voice shook, and how she was now trying to hide her eyes behind her hair.

"I'll love you regardless," Libra nudged. "If you didn't wish to speak of it, then…"

"Just—" Nah interrupted. "…Can we just, just dance quietly for a minute…"

Libra leaned closer to place a kiss on his daughter's head. "Of course, dear."

They danced without words, in brief solitude.

Other conversations flowed throughout the room, matching Brady's violin, so the 'silence', if it could be called that, didn't last long.

"Look at you two, getting along like a coupla buddies!" Nowi exclaimed, her hands on her hips. (Nah made to wipe her eyes as quickly as she could.) "Sorry to interrupt, but Nah, would you mind giving up your daddy for a dance?"

"Uh… sure," Nah murmured, and she let her father go.

Libra gave Nah a little smile, before he turned to his wife and began to dance with her—a much more energetic dance with Nowi as the leader.

Nah took the moment to catch her breath, crossing her arms. She wiped her eyes once again, feeling increasingly foolish. _Why would I expect Dad to act any differently than that? He's a paragon of forgiveness. Of course he won't… disown me, or whatever._

Her hands tightened on her arms. _'How like you to ask for a punishment.' Tch. What does he know? And even if I AM like that, it's not like I don't deserve a little judgment. I disappeared after the war without even a note. Only Morgan even knew where I was! Honestly, if that fake Robin had never shown up, they… they probably never would've seen me again._

She realized she was still standing near the center of the dance floor, without a date. _…Guess it'd be best if I called it a night._ After searching around for the door, she started to move that way.

But then she felt pressure around one of her hands, and she was being pulled. When her shock relaxed into confusion, she realized that Morgan was the culprit, holding one of Nah's hands up and grinning from ear to ear.

"Mind if I take this dance?" Morgan asked cheerfully.

Nah's mouth tried to form words, but her surprise was still overpowering her. "Wha—ah…"

"I'll take _that_ as a yes." Morgan raised her free hand flaccidly, her eyes moving from Nah's waist to her shoulder. "Where do I put this? Am I being the man, or are you?"

Finally, the situation coalesced for Nah. Morgan's smile proved to be infectious. "I accept your offer, thank you very much," she teased, resting her hand on Morgan's shoulder. _"You_ asked me, so _you're_ gonna lead." Putting up appearances, maybe, but Nah would be the last person to make a scene by getting emotional.

Morgan's smile grew, and she placed her hand on Nah's hip. "Nice!"

The pair started to slow dance. It took about five seconds before Morgan stepped on Nah's toes.

* * *

Awkwardness seemed to be the theme of the night, at least for some. Cynthia and Inigo had watched Nah's thing go down, and Cynthia was glad to see Emmeryn and Frederick getting along, and she was amused every time she and Inigo made a complete rotation so she could watch Maribelle and Chrom being all cute some more. All this made possible by the constant, ineffable charm between Cynthia and the birthday boy, because that awkwardness seemed not to be rearing its head here.

"There's another one," Inigo murmured, chuckling and nodding over Cynthia's shoulder. "Your sister stepped on Nah's toes again."

Cynthia snickered. "Really? How's she _that_ bad at dancing?"

"We were all beginners once," Inigo replied with a grin.

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Dancing Prodigy," Cynthia scoffed playfully. "If slow dancing was hard, nobody would do it. Even a beginner doesn't mess up _that_ much!"

Inigo just shrugged, still smiling. "People have different talents in different places."

"Heheh. I guess."

They danced quietly for a moment. Both wore small grins. Breaking the trend so far, the two were able to maintain casual eye contact the whole time.

Brady played a soft bridge.

Cynthia opened her mouth to speak, but she hesitated to collect her words. Inigo tilted his head with interest.

"How's your, uh, your little problem been?" Cynthia asked.

Inigo furrowed his eyebrows, smiling wider and shaking his head. "Which one was that?"

"The other day, when we were in Jugdral," Cynthia said, shrugging slightly to seem relaxed. "Remember? You said you were having girl problems."

"Lack thereof, you mean! Hahaha. Yes, I remember."

"How'd that go?" Cynthia's grin slightly adjusted into a smirk. "Ever get a date from an Einherjar?"

Inigo shook his head. "Nope, though I guess that might be for lack of trying." Matching her smirk, he said, "You see, I've had my eye on someone else recently."

"Oh?" Cynthia said with mock surprise. "Pray tell: who is this mystery lady?"

"Well, let me tell you!"

Inigo grasped her hand and slid his other arm more comfortably around Cynthia's waist—in the process, pulling her closer.

She smiled a little bit. Coyly of course.

Inigo's grin was wide. "You see, I've known this particular girl for a _very_ long time." He leaned in close; she tilted her head to allow him to whisper into her ear, "Truth be told, I've had a crush on her for years."

"Is that right?" Cynthia let Inigo pull away. "A childhood friend, hm? What's she like?"

"Where to start… her beauty, I suppose," Inigo began. "Were I a better musician, I could play a harmony on the subject of her wonderful eyes alone."

"You don't say?"

"I do! And her silken hair, her fair skin…"

Cynthia fluffed one of her pigtails, snickering. "Even when she literally _just_ got back from a fight, hasn't bathed since yesterday, and is still basically wearing her combat gear aside from the steel?"

"Especially then! The look of war suits this beauty." He winked. "Though the girl has no bad look."

Cynthia giggled. Inigo shared in it.

Brady's song began to mount in intensity.

Once collected, Cynthia cleared her throat and gave her date another smile. "While I apprec… while I'm sure _she_ appreciates the compliment, she can't be all looks, can she?"

"Oh, the gall to even suggest such a thing!" Inigo seemed appalled, but then nodded in exaggerated understanding. "Though I suppose I'm the one at fault for your assumption. I am remiss to have forgotten to mention her heroism, her accomplishments, her simply ir-re- _sistible_ cheer…"

The corners of Cynthia's smile wilted. "…I hear she's been a little lacking in that last bit lately."

But Inigo was undeterred. "Ah, so you've heard of this majestic beauty! Have you spoken with her, perhaps?"

"Ahem… Yeah, sure have." Cynthia bobbed her head, thinking on her feet. "She talked about this one guy she had a crush on."

"Oh?"

"Yup. Guy's a shameless flirt. Really a weirdo about that sort of thing."

Inigo's smile seemed a little more forced. "A-Anything positive to say, pray tell?"

"Well…" Cynthia brushed her thumb along Inigo's hand. "…The guy was weird, no doubt, but… he was a nice guy, y'know? _Hopeless_ romantic. And, and he could put his money where his mouth is. He's reliable, and funny… sometimes _intentionally_ funny, even."

Inigo nudged her. "Is this gentleman handsome, perhaps?"

"Eh…" Cynthia scanned her eyes up and down Inigo. "…He could use a _bath…"_

"Oh, stop it," Inigo whispered with a grin. "Maybe we should just be honest with each other, hm? Enough of this dancing around." He hesitated, looking around. "Uh, the metaphorical dancing, of course. The literal is quite pleasant."

"Yeah." Cynthia paused. "So… honesty?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Inigo took a breath and smiled again. "Well, I'll start. So, that girl I had a crush on? _Totally_ Noire. Mind if I ask her out?"

"Definitely, since I was talking about Gerome."

They both laughed. Cynthia pressed her head into Inigo's chest to stifle her giggles; Inigo placed his chin atop her head.

Cynthia's laughter ended with a content sigh. She and Inigo swayed together, intimately, much more intimately than before. Inigo was the first to break this warm silence.

"So… what, then?" he murmured into her hair. She could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm pretty sure I haven't gotten this far before. What happens next?"

"Sh." She'd removed her hand from his shoulder to cover his lips, as she pulled back. "Just… wait."

"Wait…?" Inigo mouthed, though he did indeed wait.

Cynthia was meeting his eye. He figured he ought to reciprocate.

Her hand was back on his shoulder, gripping tighter than before. Not a painful tight, just an anxious one. One that shot tingles up his spine, for sure.

Inigo noticed, when Cynthia took a breath, that she shivered slightly.

 _Oh man. Oh man, is this it? This feels like it's it. What're we waiting on?_

He didn't really have much to do, though. He was looking into her eyes, dancing, waiting. It took a moment to realize what she was actually waiting on—the only other thing happening—Brady's song.

The song was still mounting, up and up. It resonated throughout the room.

The rest began to disappear. The conversations, the footsteps, the breathing—the background noise faded away, leaving just the music.

Cynthia pulled a little closer, her eyes flitting downward for an instant.

 _This REALLY feels like it's it._

Inigo leaned in as well.

His nose brushed against hers. Cynthia pulled back for a second, then moved in to touch noses again.

Inigo almost felt her lips. There: there, they touched again, but barely. She was uncertain, maybe—savoring the moment, also maybe.

Of course it couldn't stay like that. Inigo and Cynthia hadn't come this far for hints and maybes. They had held onto this for longer than just the past few days.

The violin, the song they had been dancing to all this time, picked up. At long last—very, very long last—they hit the crescendo.

Cynthia and Inigo finally met each other in the middle. Their lips pushed together intensely, meeting again and again.

Cynthia dropped his hand, moving both of hers to the back of his head. While he put his hands firmly on her hips, she grasped gentle fistfuls of his hair to pull him in. All pretenses of dance were gone.

"H… hap…" She pulled away briefly, meeting his gaze once again with wide eyes. "H-Happy birthday…"

Inigo shushed her with another hungry kiss.

They were stuck that way, as intense as the crescendo they kissed to.

However—to Inigo's eternal disappointment—they both relearned the lesson that even the best part of a song has to fade sometime.

The music faded out naturally and slowly, maintaining the tempo while subtly draining away the intensity… very unlike the two lovebirds in the present, who cut off the kiss quite suddenly.

Cynthia pulled away harshly, as if awakening, and her grip on his hair relaxed. When Inigo had his bearings back, he noticed that she was blinking repeatedly, shaking her head clear.

Inigo brought up a half-smile. "Th-That was…"

"Gods, what am I _thinking?!"_

It was Inigo's turn to blink, as his smile withered. "What?"

Cynthia seemed… Inigo hated to use the word _disgusted_ in this situation, but it certainly seemed accurate. "Gods! I can't believe I just kissed _Inigo!"_

Inigo started to get a little hurt. "Hey, that's—"

"With all I know about you?" she continued. "With all the stories you've told me? With all the stories I've _heard?"_ Cynthia shuddered. "Gods, a little flirting was one thing, but _this?"_

"That's hardly fair," Inigo said, frowning now. "Where is this coming from, anyway? Not five minutes ago you were—"

"Inigo, you're _you,"_ Cynthia insisted. "You're—this, this womanizer person, and I fell for it! Ugh, I _fell_ for your stupid charms! What does that make me, huh?"

Inigo started to get… _more_ than a little hurt. "Cynthia…"

Cynthia took an impatient breath, seemingly composing her thoughts in a more tactful way. "…Look. I don't hate you, Inigo, and I _never_ could. We've been friends, like, _forever."_

Her hands were on his shoulders now, and they resumed dancing normally. Cynthia shot a few furtive glances around, as if hoping that they hadn't been spotted in their moment.

"But it's…" Cynthia sighed. "It's hard to trust you, knowing how you are with girls."

Inigo started to stutter a response, but Cynthia put up her hands: "I know, I know what you're going to say! You'll say I'm different, you'll say…"

She sighed again, this time more exasperated. "It's… it's that I feel like, um… like my feelings, and your feelings, aren't the same. I-I mean, I doubt… that your feelings are as real as mine."

"B-But they are!"

Cynthia rolled her eyes, and she took a breath to prepare.

"My feelings for you, they're—"

Inigo stopped his confession, as Cynthia had said the same words as him.

"Hm?" said Cynthia. "No, you continue."

"Uh…" Though briefly deterred, Inigo summoned his resolve. "Right! My feelings. I feel that—that it was fate! That, all this time, I've been blind, yet—yet—Gods, would you stop that?"

"Hm?" said Cynthia. "Am I bothering you?"

"Wh—yes! Stop saying everything I'm saying while I'm saying it!"

Cynthia pursed her lips. "Then say something _original."_

Inigo was at a loss, caught in her trap.

"That's somewhere in the middle of the list of your pickup lines," Cynthia stated. "The fate one. If not fate, compare me to roses or something. If that fails, compare my eyes to the moon."

Inigo cursed inwardly. He had had both of those speeches fired up and waiting.

"Inigo, all your professions of love are meaningless," Cynthia said tiredly. "You say them to every girl you meet, and they follow a formula. I would know better than anyone. I'm your wingman."

Cynthia knew this would go one of two ways: Inigo would buckle and apologize, or he would stick with it a while longer. She was curious, though; if he buckled, who would he complain to, if not Cynthia?

Inigo chose the second. "I'll prove it to you somehow," he said. "I understand that you've heard it all before, but if you give me a chance to…"

He trailed off, glaring at Cynthia. She was doing it again.

This time, however, Cynthia wasn't bothered by him stopping. "…a chance to prove myself, you will never regret it, my beautiful rose. Please—let me see your hand!"

Inigo rolled his eyes as Cynthia took one of his hands in both of her own. She inhaled deeply, and smirked.

"Ah—the fantastic scent I expected," Cynthia continued. "Truly, it matches your beauty. Now—please, milady. This aroma—it's perfection incarnate. I could never live without it, now that I've acquired a taste. Please, forget everything I've said before; look into my eyes, and tell me. Do I truly not deserve even a chance?"

They both fell silent, Cynthia looking up into Inigo's eyes.

Cynthia tilted her head. "…Was that what you were going to say?"

Inigo looked away. "…It's… 'now that I've tasted perfection, I could surely never withdraw from it'," he muttered.

Cynthia rolled her eyes and dropped his hand. "Good night, Inigo."

She walked away, away from the dance floor and toward the exit.

Inigo watched her go. A lost feeling creeped through him.

The song slowly petered out, at long last.

"Hey," came a voice from behind. When Inigo turned, he saw Brady on the dais at the other end of the room, his voice carrying across the ballroom—evidently toward Inigo, given where Brady's eyes were.

Brady gestured with his bow, grinning. Everyone's attention was now on the violinist. "I'd like ta dedicate that song to Inigo," he called. "Couldn't getcha an actual gift, given, uh, the circumstances an' whatever, so… hopefully this was good enough. Happy birthday, brother."

All eyes rested now on Inigo, at a time he'd very much rather they weren't. He forced a sheepish grin when much of the ballroom started to approach him, all giving him belated birthday greetings.

Whenever he could, he cast glances toward the door, as if hoping to see her.

She was long gone, of course.

* * *

Brady had played another, softer song once the birthday-wishers had left Inigo alone. When that was done, really, so was the night; over the next half-hour or so, most of the Shepherds gradually filtered out, the party winding down.

However, Brady was determined to be the last one out. A few Shepherds remained here and there throughout the room, mostly conversing, but the dance was over. Brady was finally able to relax his bow, and he hunched forward to lean on his violin like a cane. Glistening with sweat, he plucked his handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

He paused when he heard footsteps approaching. Brady acknowledged his sister with a grunt and a curt nod.

Lucina stopped a few paces away, wearing a smile. "I'm proud of you, Brady. I believe the Shepherds really needed something like this."

"Yeah, well." Brady shrugged, looking away. "Glad I could help _somehow."_

Lucina's smile faltered. "What does _that_ mean?"

Brady scoffed. "Yer _proud_ of me for playin' a _song,_ Luce. It really ain't nothin'."

"I—I didn't mean to degrade your other achievements, Brady, I—"

"I know that." Brady gave her a sideways look. "I ain't sayin' you're the problem. _I_ am."

"What?! Brady—"

But Brady waved away her exclamations, sighing. "Gawds, Lucina, stop bein' so dramatic. It's just that, you an' Pop, yer so important, y'know? Ugh, I heal, I know, healers are important, whatever, I _know."_ He sighed again, more gruffly. "It's just, like, I feel a li'l less significant, y'know? You'll be the one remembered in the history books. I'll just be… Lucina's brother." He looked down at his instrument. "…Glad I could help tonight, at least."

"Brady…" Lucina murmured sadly. "Where did this come from? I never knew you felt this way…"

"Mm." Brady shrugged dismissively. "Didn't come from nowhere. I'm just bein' whiny, I guess." Grunting, he stood, violin and bow in his hands.

It took a moment for Lucina to realize that Brady was muttering something. She hastily tried to catch the words, but it was mostly inaudible; she could only grasp, "…wieldin' the Falchion…"

Lucina shook her head. "What was that, Brady?"

"Nothin'. I said it was nothin'."

That was always a surefire sign of Brady wanting to drop the subject. Though reluctant, Lucina obliged him.

"…Hey."

"Yes, Brady?"

Brady looked at her again. His voice fell to a whisper. "What're we gonna do about… about you-know-what?"

Lucina frowned. "…I don't know, Brady. Father didn't want us to hear that conversation, but we did."

"Why, though?" Brady muttered. "I thought Pa'd tell us as soon as he was outta the medical tent, but…"

"He's keeping it a secret because of Morgan," Lucina replied. "He thinks the information would hurt her."

They both fell quiet, contemplating an obvious—to them—elephant in the room.

"…But why would _he_ think that?" Brady murmured. "Far as he knows, Morgan's strong… she could take news like that. Right?"

"Morgan's in a sensitive place right now, I suppose," Lucina whispered. "With the way she broke down earlier, and her mother returning… maybe he feels that that sort of knowledge would be too much right now." She cast her eyes downward. "Regardless… it's for the best that she doesn't learn."

Brady's eyes similarly turned to the floor. "Same for everyone, really."

"Yes."

They were silent once again.

Ending the silence, Brady hefted his instrument and brushed past Lucina. "Everyone's just about gone. You should think about turnin' in, too. G'night."

"Good night."

Alone in the massive ballroom, Lucina paused for a moment more, pensive. However, it wasn't long before she too exited the empty room, welcome to calling it a night.

* * *

The infirmary was almost eerily silent. Chrom had been surprised to learn that this was not actually the same room as before; he had responded with "There's a _second_ infirmary that I didn't know about? Are you kidding me?"

Regardless, he and Maribelle were alone in this identical room to the one Marth was staying in. Near one of the several stark-white beds, Maribelle took Chrom's hands and helped him out of his wheelchair, still wearing the smile she'd been unable to shake since the ballroom. Chrom was riding a similar warm feeling, not letting the sting of his injury defeat his smile once he stood.

But, while Chrom winced, Maribelle's expression suddenly fell into a serious one. She moved around him to push the chair away, then turned back to Chrom. Suddenly, she put her hands on Chrom's shoulders, and firmly (though not roughly) pushed him against the wall.

Her hands fell away. "Remove your shirt."

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed. Though his wife's face seemed serious, he continued to smile slightly, curiously. Curious about her intent, curious about this uncharacteristic forcefulness… but, he obliged anyway.

As was normal of late, Chrom took a while to take the shirt off, but Maribelle was patient. It wasn't _too_ long before Chrom stood half-naked in the candlelight, wearing his same grin.

"Well?" he asked in a whisper. Nobody could've heard him if he'd raised his voice, of course, but the room was so quiet already—and now, with Maribelle's eyes exploring his torso, even the tension seemed fragile enough to cut through with words.

Maribelle gently placed her hands on his pecs, then dragged her fingers down, her eyes following the motion.

Chrom closed his eyes, enjoying the pleasant tingles of her fingernails.

Maribelle's hands stopped around Chrom's waist. Her eyes, similarly, were fixated downwards, simply staring.

"Mari—?" Chrom began, but was cut short when Maribelle fell to her knees. "Whoa, what are you—"

Stinging pains shot through Chrom as Maribelle immediately took to unwrapping his bandages. "M-Maribelle—!"

"Quiet."

The last of the wrappings fell away. Chrom reached for anything to support himself, and placed one hand on the wall, the other wrapping around a bedpost. It was when Maribelle's fingers began to pry around his wound that he realized he'd entirely misread this situation.

He was too winded to fight Maribelle, instead just trying to weather the excruciating pain. Her fingers were not being kind to the injury, ungently poking and prying; he even felt blood trickling down his hip.

It took a while, but when she finally released him from this torture, he slid down the bedpost to his knees, still holding onto it for support. He gasped for breath, feeling sweat coating his body.

Maribelle stood over him, silently analyzing something between her fingers.

"M…" Chrom began breathlessly; slowly, he pulled himself up the bedpost, back to his feet. His mood was thoroughly killed. "M-Maribelle… why…?"

"It's as I suspected." Maribelle showed Chrom whatever it was that she found so important.

Chrom squinted; dim candlelight reflected off of the red metal in Maribelle's hand. "Is that…?"

"A lingering fragment of Siegmund, yes. The blade was already damaged when you were stabbed, and it seems that some of it was left behind inside your hip."

"It's so _big…!"_

"Indeed."

As Maribelle turned away and placed the shard atop a bedside table, Chrom lifted himself onto the bed. He rubbed his face, moaning exhaustedly.

Maribelle picked up a rag from the table and began to wipe her hands. "With that gone now, will you use the Bath Elixir again?"

Chrom waved it away. "No… I don't want to waste it like that. I'll just let it heal naturally… If I stick to that wheelchair and avoid combat, it'll be gone in just a couple of days. Like Emm promised."

Maribelle's head turned in quiet acknowledgement, flicking her golden hair over her shoulder. For an instant, she stared at him with… a neutral expression? Chrom was having trouble reading her.

Another thing he didn't read was her smoothly striding over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders once again, and pushing him back onto the bed. She pinned both of his wrists over his head.

Chrom's eyes were wide with concern. She'd certainly betrayed his expectations last time. But… from this close, he could see her eyes, _deep_ into her eyes. She was…

"You're so reckless," she whispered. "You constantly put yourself in danger… constantly get hurt. You leave me to worry for you."

Her eyes did not leave him, and wouldn't. She wanted him to see this concern, this pent-up worry.

"And it isn't fair," she resumed, her voice soft—to not break the silence, to show her concern, because she could go no louder. "It isn't fair, Chrom, because you and I, we are not equals."

Maribelle had Chrom pinned, and her words were premeditated; it was clear that he wasn't in a position to reply.

"It's absolutely infuriating, Chrom. I cannot argue with you, ever. You—you are the Exalt, beacon of Ylisse. The only wielder of Falchion. You can't _not_ act… every reckless decision, every dangerous choice, you make because you _must._ So often, I wish to… to chastise you, to _argue…_ to tell you your decision is the wrong one… but I can't."

Her hands tightened on his wrists. Chrom winced at the minor pressure from her fingernails.

"Do you understand, Chrom?" Her voice was a faint breath. "Do you see why? I want to be angry; whenever I see this injury, I want to… to scold you, to tell you that you've brought it on yourself with your rashness… but it isn't my place. It's no one's place, Chrom."

She paused for a moment, still staring into Chrom's softened eyes. "I had to get this off my chest. These—these worries, they've… they've been eating at me for some time. And if I c-cannot argue with you any other time, then… this will satisfy me for now."

In that moment, as Maribelle's hands slunk away, Chrom saw the last few days very clearly. He had joked with Morgan about it all being a dictatorship, but… that was _true._ Nobody could stop him from participating in the Einherjar War; nobody could talk him out of dueling Eldigan; even when he was nearly crippled from injury or sickness, nobody could stop him from fighting in battle anyway.

His first thought was, _That's only logical._ He was Exalt, ruler of a nation! Of course this was no democracy. He couldn't be wrestling with others over every decision, or would anything have ever gotten done?

But, for his second thought, he took a step back and looked at the situation. This was war, yes, but this was _not_ marriage. He was Maribelle's superior in rank, in position… they _weren't_ equals, and Maribelle _couldn't_ argue with him. Had she been more vocal in opposing the Einherjar War, would he have simply dismissed her opinions like he did the rest of them?

She had warned him about his injuries, and he had ignored her—because he _could._

And he was paying for it now. If he'd let her, she could've found the shard of Siegmund, and he would be back on his feet by now.

Guilt began to rise. He started to understand Maribelle's recent attitude, her coldness… her hostility. It was frustration. Frustration he could still not ease. Chrom had no words to assuage her fears, because she was right about all of it.

Before she could climb off of the bed, he caught her wrist. He had nothing to say, but he looked up at her with somber eyes, and she looked back with the same expression.

He gently tugged at her wrist as an invitation. She gradually accepted, crawling back over him and sliding her hands underneath his back. She rested her head on his bare chest, letting out a quiet breath.

Chrom stroked her hair, staring up into the black ceiling.

"I… I s-still love you," Maribelle murmured, in a quivering voice. "I could never not love you…"

"I love you too, Maribelle. You know that."

The lone candle quietly burned away as the couple rested in that gentle repose.

The eighth of August came to a quiet end.

* * *

 _Next time:_

Arc 2 - **Quintessence**

 _Chapter 15 – **Harvest Scramble**_


	15. Harvest Scramble

-ARC 2: **QUINTESSENCE-**

* * *

Chapter 15: **Harvest Scramble**

* * *

All was quiet when Nah's eyes lifted open. Her advanced ears could hear some birds chirping outside, and she turned her head to the window, smiling at the lazy morning rays floating through. The verdant plains of Old Hubba's Outrealm stretched out beyond the glass. _What a sight to wake up to._

The Manakete sat up in her bed, stretching and yawning loudly. She felt unbelievably refreshed. She couldn't remember the last sleep she'd had that felt this good. Even colors seemed to be more vibrant today.

She started to lift the covers off, but when she looked down, she suddenly frowned at the mess of clothes and hair curled up on the floor at the foot of her bed.

"…Morgan, is that you?"

The tactician shifted at the sound of her name. "Mmmmn… Jus', jus' five more… min…"

"Morgan," Nah repeated, more sternly.

"Mmwha?" Morgan blinked awake, propping herself up on an elbow. "Oh… Hey, Nah." A little smirk grew on her face. "Was it good for you, too?"

Nah rolled her eyes. "Why are you in my room?"

"Mmm." Morgan rubbed her eyes sleepily. "Mmmmom. Mom. She fell asleep in my bed…" She yawned loudly, smacking herself lightly on her cheeks to wake herself up. "Yeah, so I crashed here."

"You could've told me," Nah said.

"You were passed out by the time I got here," Morgan countered, the smirk returning. "I _definitely_ considered whispering sweet nothings into your ear to wake you up, but instead I just fell asleep. Sorry to get you so flustered."

"I am not _flustered."_

"Mmhm." Morgan winked.

Nah sighed. "Anyway… big day, huh? Finally leaving the mansion behind."

"D'you feel bittersweet about it too?" Morgan asked. "I think I'm gonna miss this place."

Nah wrinkled her nose at the idea. "Definitely not. This place reminds me of being either sick or cooped up. I can't wait to be out of here."

Morgan bobbed her head. "Fair enough. And hey, since we're on the topic, how're you feeling right now?"

Nah flexed her fingers. "…Incredible, actually. I feel so _rested."_ She frowned. "Come to think of it, I feel like I haven't gotten much sleep the past few nights."

"That must've been Outrealm Sickness doing its thing," Morgan said quietly.

 _Explains a lot,_ Nah thought. She hadn't even realized it, but the Outrealm Sickness had certainly been affecting her mental health. Even the same day that they had entered the Outrealms, she'd been on edge and emotional the entire time… And now she knew it had been affecting her sleep, too.

"But that's behind me now." Nah threw the covers off, grinning broadly. "I'm _back,_ Morgan. It's time for me to properly rejoin the Shepherds."

 _"Hell_ yeah." Morgan and Nah bumped fists.

* * *

The atmosphere was pleasant, for sure: quiet. Walking amidst the exodus of Shepherds, Chrom stopped, turning his eyes back on the mansion. He put a hand on his hip and squinted through the morning sunlight, unable to resist the thought of… _This place is actually pretty stunning._ The green plains, the distant mountains, the gentle breeze swaying the forest not far ahead, and the lovely cloudless sky brightly displaying it all. The weather seemed to reflect the cheer of the Shepherds. He could feel the buzz of excitement radiating from his allies. He, of course, was not exempt from such feelings himself. (Certainly, the fact that he was well enough to walk unaided contributed heavily to that.)

 _Just noticing how nice this place is…_ Chrom thought with a sigh, turning his eyes ahead once again to the Outrealm Gate looming on the fringe of the woods, _…right when we're leaving it for good._ He paused, noticing that Maribelle had also stopped, watching him cautiously, but when he began walking again (reassuring her with a smile and a nod) she walked alongside him as before.

"Does your wound ail you?"

Chrom shook his head. "It's a little better."

Maribelle was wringing her hands, he now noticed. "…That is good."

They walked quietly for a bit.

"Ah, about last night." She glanced aside at her husband. "I feel there's no need to discuss it any further."

Chrom frowned.

"I've aired my frustration, so… to dwell on it any longer would merely bring tension. I have nothing more to say on the subject, nor can I expect anything to come of it. So…" Her eyes averted. "Could we, perchance… not think on it?"

Chrom caught her meaning. With a smile, he slunk his fingers between hers, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I don't want things to be weird, Maribelle."

She trembled, but soon, her hand wrapped around his with the same affection. "I'm… glad."

* * *

The Shepherds now milled patiently about the Outrealm Gate, awaiting orders to march through. Cynthia sighed; "Hope this doesn't take too much longer."

"Chrom said the Annas will give us directions," Sumia said. "And the Annas are in the mansion right now. Shouldn't be too much longer!" She flashed a smile her daughter's way.

A tinge of red hit Cynthia's cheeks, and she averted her eyes. "R-Right."

Sumia tilted her head. "…Cynthia."

"Mm! Y-Yes, Mother?"

"'Mother,'" Sumia chuckled. "C'mon, Cynthia. Please don't be so formal with me."

Cynthia looked down, blushing intensely and grabbing the hem of her skirt. "B-But, Moth—Mom, Mom… You know. Don't just… pretend nothing's happened, okay?"

Sumia winced, averting her eyes as well. "Y-Yeah. I… I just…" She shook her head. _How am I supposed to even tackle this situation? Gods, Robin would know exactly what to say… He was so good at that._ She blinked. _Is. Is good at that…_ And the answer clicked in her mind.

"Listen, Cynthia," Sumia began brightly, brushing her hair over her ear as she faced her daughter. "We can talk _aaaaaall_ about this… when your father's back with us." She winked. "Until then, let's be cool around each other, okay?"

A lump rose into Cynthia's throat. "I—I—" A smile burst forth. "Y-Yes! Definitely! Let's, let's—let's be cool!"

"Then—can I—" Sumia bit her tongue, feeling her question was horribly intrusive. Too much to ask. She—she'd treated Cynthia so poorly… she didn't deserve to ask of her "Can I have a hug, then?"

Her eyes went wide. She'd said that out loud.

Cynthia didn't miss a beat. Immediately, with the same energy she'd displayed when they reunited yesterday, she threw her arms around Sumia in an encompassing hug, startling the older pegasus knight.

"I, I missed you, Mom." Cynthia sniffed; they were still in public, so she couldn't just _cry,_ but dammit, fighting was hard.

"I missed you too, Cynthia." Sumia stroked her daughter's pigtails with care, the same way she did the Cynthia of this time. "We won't be apart again, I _promise."_

Cynthia unconsciously tilted her head into her mother's patting; this was so nostalgic. Reminded her of times as a child, when—

Cynthia's eyes snapped open, and she pulled away. "Wh-What happened to me?"

Sumia blinked.

"Ah, I—I mean, who's taking care of me? Not _me,_ but—little-me!"

"Oh," Sumia sighed, putting a hand over her heart in relief. "You worried me! She and Morgan are with your grandparents; they've been holding onto them ever since the deal with the fake Robin. After all, I needed as much babysitting as my children did. I'm sure the castle's nannies are capable and all, but I wanted to keep you in the family."

"Our…" Cynthia began dumbly, "…grandparents?"

"Yes," Sumia laughed, a little confused. "My mother and father? They live on the fringe of the capital!"

Cynthia's bewildered expression disconcerted Sumia to the point of panic.

"I've never told you you have grandparents?!" Sumia shook her head defiantly. "How much do you not know about me? How much do I not know about _you?!"_

Somehow, Sumia losing her composure relaxed Cynthia. She laughed. "Oh, I bet we've got tons to talk about. You said Miss Cordelia's taking you shopping at the Harvest Festival, right?"

Sumia was fidgeting indecisively. "…Y-Yes, but—"

"Then," Cynthia said cheerfully, smiling and putting her hands on Sumia's shaking ones, "how about we grab dinner as a family tonight and share all our stories? We'll even have brand-new stories from the festival itself, I'm sure!"

Sumia's expression softened into a warm smile. "…Definitely."

"It's a deal! You, me, Morgan, and—" Cynthia stopped herself, frowning a bit. _No, not…_ "Y-You, me, and Morgan."

Sumia seemed curious, but Cynthia didn't explain herself. Seemed uncomfortable enough to dissuade Sumia from pressing, as well. "Sounds lovely."

* * *

"Seliph?" Chrom was nonplussed. "And… friends."

Seliph, Lena, and… a woman he assumed to be the Silver-Haired Maiden all stood before him, composed in identical bearings: eyes closed, heads inclined respectfully.

"We owe you so much," Seliph stated. His voice, trembling on the verge of betraying emotion, contrasted with his calmer profession of the same yesterday. "We—for a hundred years, we…" He paused, grimacing.

"We couldn't begin to thank you," said Lena gently. "For your service to us… and for helping Prince Marth. He suffered hardship unlike the rest of ours, yet…" She shook her head. "The least we can do is pledge to you our servitude. Exalt Chrom…"

Lena, Seliph, and Micaiah all raised their hands in unison, each clutching their respective cards tightly.

"Please accept our—"

Chrom waved it away, sharing a look with Maribelle. "Nah, nah, give those to Morgan. She's the tactician around here; I need you following _her_ orders."

The three Einherjar hesitated, exchanging glances, and they slowly withdrew their hands. "…I suppose that would be more appropriate," said Seliph. "Y-You must understand that this is an emotional ordeal to us… We've never known a master other than Beatrice."

"That's fine," said Chrom, smiling. "I'm sure Morgan wouldn't mind if you gave her the same speech you just gave me. Go on, then."

"There was something else," said Micaiah.

Er, _presumably_ Micaiah. "You're the Silver-Haired Maiden, correct?"

"Yes, I am, but please—call me Micaiah." She smiled pleasantly.

"Micaiah it is. You said there was something else?"

"Yes." Micaiah gestured at Chrom's abdomen. "Allow me to service your wound. You needn't walk around in such shape when I can correct it my magic."

"Ah…" Chrom scratched his head. "Yeah, the magic that could heal Marth's _impalement._ Sacrifice, right?"

Micaiah brightened. "Yes!"

"Hmm…" Tempting, tempting. Micaiah would be left winded and breathless at best, in exchange for Chrom being able to walk normally…

And…

He glanced aside at Maribelle, who was watching him expectantly, curiosity in her eyes. And—and a bit of worry. Her eyes told the story of: _'This choice is yours, Chrom.'_

Yesternight's epiphanies rose to mind.

"…Sorry, but I've gotta say no to this offer, too," Chrom said, grinning sheepishly. "If I don't just let it heal, then where's the lesson learned? No, I'm going to walk around with it for a bit longer. Maybe it'll drill into me how careless I was in that fight with Ephraim." He gave a thumbs-up. "Never make the same mistake twice, right?" _Things I didn't expect I'd ever say yesterday…_

Micaiah blinked awkwardly. "I-I see. Put that way, I suppose I can understand." She drew determination into her expression: "Regardless! Thank you, milord! We won't forget your kindness, ever. We'll serve you as long as we must."

"I'm glad to have you aboard."

With another reverent bow, the three Einherjar departed, likely in Morgan's direction.

Chrom let out a breath. "Well that's pretty ni—"

"Mind if we steal your attention next?"

Chrom and Maribelle faced the familiar voice. Chrom relaxed into a smile as he responded, "Glad you finally made it, Annas."

Three Annas stood before him, all smiling identically.

"You know, I hope you're not offended that I can never tell which one of you is ours," Chrom added.

"Y'know, I'm _very_ offended," said the Anna in the center, but the other two hit her on each arm.

"She's tryin' to trick you," said the rightmost Anna. "I'm Anna. 'Shepherd,' so to speak." She grinned at Chrom. "Sorry I missed out on the fight! But it seems like you didn't need my help after all, huh?"

"No, but it would've been appreciated regardless. Welcome back. And…" Chrom extended a hand. "Sorry for suspecting you."

Anna shook Chrom's hand. "It's no big deal. But I should've known! Practically all my sisters knew about Old Hubba but me!" She pouted. "I felt so left out…"

"We coddle her too much," said Left Anna matter-of-factly.

"She's always in the Inrealm," said Center Anna. "She doesn't trust her sense of direction in the Outrealms—rightly so—so we don't get to see her much anyway. Figured Old Hubba would never be an issue to her."

Maribelle bristled. "What a dangerous assumption! If she'd known—"

"—Then nothing would've changed," said Left Anna. She pointed her thumb at Center Anna; "Did you forget that Pickles swung by a few days ago? She had orders from Mother not to say anything. Shepherd would've had the same orders."

Chrom's jaw dropped. He had completely forgotten. "You—Y-You were _here!_ How did you even get in the mansion? _Why_ did you come?"

"I snuck in," said Center Anna—Pickles, apparently—flatly. "I've had scrapes with the Einherjar before; I couldn't just walk in and out the front door. And I told you then why I was there: dropping off Robin-related info. We've been trying to follow him, but we lost his trail two days ago."

Roaring _'why didn't you tell us about the old man?!'_ occupied the corner of Chrom's mind, but he figured he already knew the sort of cryptic answer he'd get, so he quashed it in favor of something more pertinent. "…So you don't know where Robin is?"

"We never did. We only know where he's been! The trail went cold, so what we want you to do is retrace his steps. We know that he awoke in Old Hubba's Outrealm and then went to the Springrealm. We can trace his path a few Outrealms past that, and then it goes cold."

"How do you mean?" asked Maribelle.

"She means we can't tell where the Outrealm Gate took him, if he used it at all," said Left Anna. "And at the moment, we aren't well-equipped enough to simply follow him into the dangerous Outrealms he left behind. That's where you come in, Shepherds."

"So Robin was in the Springrealm," said Chrom, darkening. "That's why we're going there. It was never about the Harvest Festival."

Both of the Annas blinked. "What?" They both laughed. "No, no! Trust me, we've scoured the Springrealm up and down. If there were signs of Robin being there, we would've found them. No, you guys really are just going there for vacation. Your real work starts tomorrow."

Chrom released a breath. "Good, good…" A thought occurred to him. "And what about Old Hubba?"

"We'll take him to the Springrealm ourselves after you guys," said Pickles, pumping her fists. "He's had a cell with his name on it for a hundred years!"

"Good," Maribelle spat.

Chrom crossed his arms. "So that's everything, I think. Should we get going now?"

All three of the Annas brightened. "Yes! Party time!"

* * *

Chrom had had brief trepidations as he stared into the cyan abyss, but when he held his breath and passed through, the Outrealm Gate simply swirled about him mildly uncomfortably. No worse for the wear, he stepped easily onto the Springrealm's fertile soil.

From the hill the Shepherds had alighted upon, they could see the Springrealm's capital city in its entirety. At least, it could only have been the capital; the Springrealm was a dense metropolis, and even from this distance, festivities could be heard. Splashes of colorful decorations populated the sprawl.

"G-Gods, you weren't kidding," Morgan murmured. "This really DOES put Ylisstol to shame…"

"This city's sometimes called the Crossroad," said Pickles, winking at the tactician. "The most populated area in the Outrealms! This isn't the only inhabited Outrealm, but it's definitely the biggest."

"That's so cool." Morgan's legs felt weak, intimidated by the scale. "That's—that's so _cool!"_

* * *

"Alright, everyone." Chrom leaned on his good hip as he waved his arm, at last catching the attention of the Shepherds milling about. "Headcount checks out, everyone's here, so I'll finally get on with it so we can go down there and enjoy the festivities. First things first! The Annas were kind enough to prepare room and board for us within the city, so we're all going to stop by tonight's living arrangements first to put our things down and secure the convoy. Heh, but don't get too comfortable; we're only here for the one night." He grinned widely. "We've got one day of leave, and then we're back to the grind at last! Starting tomorrow, we are _finding_ Robin!"

The Shepherds answered with a cheer.

Chrom sighed, smiling. "That's what I like to hear. Now let's get going."

* * *

Emmeryn was a bit nonplussed. No sooner had the Annas seen them off with "Be sure you don't miss the fireworks tonight! It's a spectacle!" than the Shepherds scattered. Some of the more antisocial among them immediately made to hide away in the Shepherds' lodgings for the day, but the vast majority spread out into the busy town, hopefully keeping their curfew in mind (they couldn't go TOO far).

Well, the day was young, and there was no shortage of things to do. When Frederick turned to her with a smile, asking "Where to, milady," Emmeryn felt a nostalgic tingling in her chest.

 _Adventure._

The feeling reminded her strongly of Valm Harbor. A city the size of which she'd never seen, bustling with an uncountable number of strangers, so many things to see and do… And this curiosity matched the eagerness she'd been filled with when she had first (re-)learned how to read and write. Oh, she had so much she wanted to do.

She grinned widely as a plan began to take shape in her mind.

* * *

The buildings tended to be somewhat shorter than those typical of Ylisstol, granting a very open feel to the city. The wide streets were accommodating for the many pedestrians, as well, leading to a gentle walk for Maribelle and Chrom as they perused the cheerful Harvest Festival.

Maribelle paused, touching her hand gently against Chrom's wrist. "Do you need to sit down?"

"Hm?" Chrom murmured, absently taking her hand. "Ah, if you wanted to keep walking, that'd be fine."

Maribelle smirked a bit. "Oh, come now. Don't _pretend_ to be having fun, that's just insulting."

Chrom chuckled. "All right, all right, I'll take you up on that. Maybe there's a stage performance or something I could sit down for."

"We shouldn't have any trouble finding one."

"Unless," Chrom said, nodding up ahead. Maribelle followed his eye, already growing a warm smile. Lissa was hurrying over, a bright grin on her face as she ran.

"Lissa," Maribelle greeted cheerfully when the healer stopped before them. "Good morning!"

"Good morning!" Lissa responded. "Maribelle, look at my hat!"

Maribelle's eyes drifted upwards. Sure enough, a conical party hat adorned the princess's head. "…That is indeed a hat."

"There's a bunch more, and I need to get you one! C'mon!" Lissa tugged on her friend's arm. "Chrom, do you mind if I borrow her for a bit?"

"Haha, not at all. Keep her as long as you want, actually; I should just go lie down."

Maribelle started. "Chrom—?!"

"Don't worry about it," Chrom laughed. "I'm just still tired. I'll nap for a bit, and then I'll come back out. Sound good?"

Maribelle seemed a bit reluctant. "If you say so. But—But don't miss the fireworks." She squeezed his hand momentarily, and then released it. "I want to watch them with you."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Chrom gave her a two-finger salute as he began to walk away. "I'll see you then. Have fun, you two."

"Thanks, Chrom!" Lissa tugged at Maribelle again. "Now let's goooo…!"

"Hahaha… Yes, yes…"

Chrom heard their voices fading as they went their separate ways, soon becoming indistinguishable in the crowd.

He stretched his arm, feeling stings race down his wounded hip that drew a grimace to his face. _Man, screw symbolism. I should've just taken Micaiah up on her offer…_ He sighed. _Oh well._

* * *

Lucina couldn't help but think of Brady as she listened to the stage performers playing their music for the dining area. She sat at a table alone, cupping her chin in her palm and listening, admiring the peaceful scenario. Brady was a talented musician, she knew; were circumstances different, perhaps he'd be on a stage much like this one as a career. Not… war. An artist born in a position of royalty: how unfortunate. But—keeping spirits high—Lucina mused that Brady could do whatever he wanted with himself once Robin was found and they returned home. He may be royalty in their future, but in this time, he is simply a talented man.

Lucina found the thought comforting. She closed her eyes, losing herself to the music.

"Yo, Lucina!"

Lucina's chin slipped off of her hand, nearly slamming painfully into the table. "Wha…!" She looked up at the newcomer. "Oh… Hello, Morgan. You startled me. How are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good!" The tactician slid into a seat across the table from Lucina. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all. But I expected you to be with Cynthia and Lady Sumia?"

Morgan giggled. "Mom's hanging out with Cordelia today, and Cynthia's off doing her own thing, so nah." She tapped her chin. "Oh yeah, Nah. She's with her parents. Pretty happy for her."

"So you didn't find yourself busy, then?"

"Not true! I specifically wanted to find you today, Lucina."

Lucina's curiosity was piqued. "Really?"

"Yes, absolutely." Morgan placed her arm on the table as she leaned closer, grinning. "I need your help for something, Luce. Aaand it's kinda sketchy."

Lucina was immediately reminded of Morgan's theft of the Warp Powder the other day, so a skeptical leer came to the princess's eye. "…I imagine that neither of us should get involved, then."

"No, no, I think you'll like it." Morgan's expression twinkled with enthusiasm. "I'll cut to the chase, Lucina: Marth and Caeda, the lovely Einherjar couple, are probably squandering this beautiful, _romantic_ festival by not spending it with each other."

Lucina hesitated. "That's… none of our…"

Morgan's grin widened when Lucina trailed off thoughtfully. "I guess you see where I'm going with this, then. I, grandmaster tactician of the legendary Shepherds, do proclaim that we shall hook those two lovebirds up. You in?"

Lucina found a little smile growing on her face, but she suddenly shook her head, blinking as if awakening. "Th-That's ridiculous. They are adults, Morgan. They don't need our help."

"They _totally_ do, though," Morgan insisted. "C'mon. You know Marth. You know him better than _I_ do. (You even dress like the guy…)" She narrowed her eyes at Lucina. "Do you actually think he's going to make a move on Caeda, if it took him _years_ to do the same a hundred years ago? Hell, that's how it happened for real two _thousand_ years ago, too! Nobody spitting out their damn feelings." Morgan was still smiling when she said, "With a little _push,_ though…"

Lucina was clearly tempted.

"I'm not my dad, for sure, but I like to think I'm okay enough at reading people," said Morgan. "I'd imagine giving Marth some closure of the sort would be cathartic to you."

Lucina felt Morgan's words strike true, but a retort quickly reached her. "Then what about you, hm? What do you get from this? Why bring it up at all?"

"Peace of mind."

Morgan was smiling so simply, so genuinely. Almost naively, had Lucina not known her. Lucina couldn't get much of a read on Morgan's expression—whether she was lying or understating or whatever—but as she thought on it, she found that it didn't matter much what Morgan's motivations were, as long as her heart was in the right place.

And that, Lucina was certain, it was.

* * *

It suddenly struck Emmeryn that the trinkets being sold at the kiosks were surprisingly mundane. Bracelets, earrings, the like. Nothing… nothing _otherworldly._ Nothing that said "I bought this from an alternate plane of existence!" Plus, they accepted ordinary gold, and—

Emmeryn frowned thoughtfully, lifting a broach to examine it. The small piece of metal was fashioned in the shape of the Brand of the Exalt.

"You gonna buy that?"

Emmeryn jumped, antiquated nervousness striking her. She'd had some poor experiences with shopkeepers in the past, after all. "N-No, sorry…" She returned the broach to its spot on display. "Just, just curious." She combed her fingers through her bangs anxiously, glad she'd had the foresight to hide her Brand. Without Frederick nearby, she felt more secure if she could melt into a crowd.

Ah! She was suddenly reminded why she'd parted ways with Frederick.

 _"If you're at my side, I'll never want to talk to the locals," she laughed lightly. "I'm afraid… that we're far too close, Frederick. I want to be able to talk to more people."_

 _Frederick scratched his head. "Ah… I suppose I should be flattered by that reasoning. Well, far be it from me to keep you from having a good time, but I must insist you stay armed."_

 _Emmeryn laughed. "Please, Frederick… I've learned that lesson."_

Emmeryn smiled a little bit. _He's always so concerned about me._ Then, she faced the shopkeeper. _I wanted to learn more about this place; that's why I'm alone._ "Excuse me…"

"Hm?" The man glanced at her, growing an amicable smile for his customer. "Changed your mind?"

"N—" Emmeryn paused. "Y-Yes, I have. How much… for the broach?"

"Thirty gold."

"Of course…" She dug into her pocket quietly, scraping the loose coins into her palm. Soon, having gathered enough, she handed it over to the vendor with a friendly smile.

"Enjoy!" The shopkeeper dropped the Brand-emblazoned broach into her palm.

"Um…" Emmeryn clutched the broach to her heart, thinking hard. "P-Pardon me, but… are you from here? The, the Springrealm?"

The man stroked his beard, eyeing her curiously. "You must be new, huh. You from the Hotrealm?"

"N-No. I'm actually from the Inrealms."

The vendor's eyebrow quirked. "Whoa, _really_ new. New enough to not know it's called the 'Inrealm.'"

Emmeryn frowned. "Isn't that what I said…?"

"Nuh-uh, you said In _realms,_ plural. It's all referred to as the In _realm_ , singular." He shrugged. "Odd, I know. There's a ton of parallel 'Inrealms,' so I dunno why either."

Emmeryn tapped her chin. "That's very strange…"

"Ah, but I left your question hangin', huh? I've lived here for… hmm, three years, just about, and I'd consider it my home too, but I guess I'm not _from_ this here Springrealm. I was born 'n' raised in Valm."

"Y-You're from Valm?" Emmeryn wasn't sure why she got so excited from hearing that. She was from Ylisse, per se… not Valm, not anymore. "How did you end up here…?"

The shopkeeper sighed deeply. "See, I imagine it's the same situation as yours. Same as everyone's, or at least everyone _I_ know. My timeline fell to the Fell Dragon, so the Annas swooped in, saved as many people as they could, and brought them here."

His words were a blow to Emmeryn's gut. "Y-You… come from a fallen world…?"

"…You don't?" The man's confusion was palpable. "Then… you're _visiting?"_

"Visiting? Ha, I… suppose that's an optimistic way of looking at it…"

"Huh!" The man was grinning. "That's a first, miss, I'll give you that! _Visitors._ Hm. Everyone I know has either lived in the Outrealms for generations or came from a world the Grimleal took." He crossed his arms. "So, like… everything worked out in your timeline? Grima never awoke?"

"It was defeated… Killed." A shudder ran down Emmeryn's spine.

"Killed." Now, a frown affixed itself onto the vendor's expression. He leaned against his kiosk, lost in thought. "Gods, _killed._ There's… another me that didn't have to put up with all that shit. I lost a _lot_ of friends back then."

Emmeryn cringed. "I-I'm sorry…" Overwhelming guilt began to rise as she realized she shouldn't have brought this up.

The shopkeeper's eyes widened, noticing that Emmeryn was on the verge of tears. "B-But it wasn't all bad! My wife was pregnant when the apocalypse struck, and she gave birth after we arrived here." He grinned proudly. "So my son is _actually_ an Outrealmer! Not a man of the Earth! So I think things worked out pretty well."

"Adjusting must have been so d-difficult," Emmeryn murmured, wiping her eyes.

"Hmm… Yeah, I guess it was. Nobody knew what the 'Outrealms' were, or really even what was going on back in our world, until the Annas rescued us and explained everything. We weren't happy—BELIEVE me, a lot of us _weren't_ happy—but we settled because we had to. And now…" He gestured vaguely, indicating the festival. "Look at what's come of it!"

Emmeryn blinked. "Wa-Wait, you mean to say that… this was barren land just three years ago?"

"Heh! No, no, the Springrealm's been around… forever? I dunno. But it's much bigger than it was. The Annas brought thousands of people aside from me. And in the past year they've been bringing in more than ever."

"That's amazing," Emmeryn breathed. "I had no idea the Annas were so… so… proactive!"

"Yeah, I guess so," the shopkeeper mused. "Hm. You seem pretty knowledgeable for someone not from here. Are you somebody important in your time?"

"No," said Emmeryn confidently, smiling. "No, I am not." She extended her hand. "Thank you so much, for, um… letting me pick your brain. If I were from here… I'd wish we were friends, mister."

"Heheh. Yeah, likewise, lady." He shook her hand. "Enjoy your broach."

Emmeryn glowed, clutching the ornament tightly.

* * *

"…I told you that hat would look great on you."

Maribelle forced a half-smile, adjusting her hair somewhat. Gods, she hoped this hat wasn't messing it up, but she just couldn't bring herself to disappoint Lissa. "Y-Yes, I suppose."

Lissa giggled teasingly. "Man! This is so _fun!_ We haven't had time together, just the two of us, in a hot minute, have we?"

"Not since we entered the Outrealms, no. However, I'm enjoying this time now." Maribelle smiled.

"Me too! I blame Chrom, honestly. He coulda fielded me back on Talys, but _nooo._ "

"Hahaha."

They walked together for a bit longer. Lissa was chattering about whatever, but Maribelle was lost in thought, even taking to biting her thumbnail—a habit she had thought dead, and disgustedly stopped as soon as she realized what she was doing. Occupying her hands by fiddling with her parasol instead, she returned to thought.

"…Say, Lissa…"

"Hm?" The princess's bright eyes turned to her friend. "Sup?"

"How are you and Vaike doing?"

Lissa smiled. "We're great! We even got to dance yesterday, and I couldn't _tell_ you the last time that's happened!"

"That's lovely."

An anxious knot had settled in Maribelle's gut, but she maintained her bearing flawlessly. She'd had much practice with keeping her composure.

"I'm certain you've told me before, Lissa, but… how did you and Vaike, well, get together?"

"Oh boy," Lissa chuckled. "Not gonna lie, I thought Vaike was _super_ annoying when I first met him through the Shepherds. He kinda grew on me during the war with Plegia, though I only started _like-_ liking him during Valm. And he can be charming!"

"Hahaha. That's lovely, but honestly, I was hoping for something more specific."

Lissa winked. "How _specific_ are you talking?" She waved it away. "Naw, I'm just kidding. I think it was because we tended to fight close to each other, really. There was a time he mindlessly jumped in front of me to protect me. Like, for him, it was _instinct._ His heart said 'jump,' so he said 'hell yeah!' I had to respect that. He's got _spirit!_ The same kind of spirit as me! And hopefully that's something he's teaching our son right now."

"Don't worry, dear. I'm certain Owain has a surplus of it." Maribelle and Lissa both chuckled. "So you would say your affection grew on the battlefield?"

"Hmm…" Lissa frowned thoughtfully. "Well, I'd say it grew the _most_ during our private time, ifyaknowwhatImsayin', but yeah, I think the fighting was what brought us together."

"That's… That's very sweet, Lissa." Maribelle gave her friend a smile, which Lissa reciprocated before returning to whatever subject she'd been bubbling about before.

Maribelle's grip tightened on her parasol, a semblance of fear clutching at her.

* * *

"Alright, Lucy, here it is." Morgan spread a tall sheet of paper across the table, causing Lucina to raise her eyebrows. "My ten-step plan to get Marth and Caeda together once and for all." Before Lucina could even voice her surprise, Morgan stabbed her pointer finger onto the page's first bullet point: "Step One! We throw small rocks at Caeda and Marth each, causing them to look for who did it, until they finally run into each other instead."

"Ah—"

"Step Two! While they're being awkward, drizzle water on their heads to make them think it's raining so they run under cover together and have to stay there and talk."

"Morgan—"

"Step Three! When they realize it wasn't rain at all, and they start to leave cover, we bring in the singer quartet we've hired to—"

Though she was mildly curious as to what Morgan could possibly have in store for the remaining seven steps, Lucina wasn't interested enough to humor Morgan for that much longer. "No, that's absurd and furthermore will not work. A tactician of your caliber should have a better plan than _that."_

Morgan sighed, rolling the paper back up and stuffing it into her coat pocket. "Yeah, yeah, I figured…" She rested her chin across the table, seeming let down. "Fine, we'll do Plan B, then. The B is for Boring."

"With you, it never is."

"It's just a modification of Step One of the last plan, but a little less exciting, and with no other involvement past that…"

Lucina squinted, trying to remember what Step One was. "Throwing rocks…?"

"Yeah, it's that, but without the rock throwing." Morgan sat up, finally sprouting a little grin. "What you and I have to do is, we each talk to Caeda and Marth separately, and we steer them to talk to each other." She waggled her finger; "Now that I think about it, maybe this _is_ more fun! Though I was really excited about the sharks we'd use for the first plan."

Lucina pursed her lips. She wasn't going to ask.

"Anyway, how's that sound? Good plan? Bad plan?"

The princess nodded. "Yes. If we are to get involved in their personal lives, it would be best to be direct, yet hands-off." She placed her hands on the table to push herself to her feet. "I will go find Marth at once."

Her words stabbed momentary panic into Morgan. "Wh—No, no, I thought…"

Lucina paused, hovering near the table. "What is it?"

Morgan combed her fingers through her hair, smiling sheepishly. "I, uh, was kinda hoping _I_ could go talk to Marth, and you'd speak to Caeda…" She shook her head, straightening her expression and quickly standing. "N-No, you're right, it makes way more sense for you to talk to Marth." She forced a smile and a thumbs-up: "You got it! I'll go find Caeda! See you later, right?"

"…Right," Lucina murmured skeptically, and Morgan gave a salute before hurrying away. Shaking her head and focusing, Lucina turned; she had a vague idea of where Marth was, so she may as well start looking.

* * *

 _How curious,_ Emmeryn mused, _that she would be walking alone at this point._ She frowned as she drew closer to Cynthia; the pegasus knight was perusing the stalls, hands clasped behind her back as she examined the variety of odds and ends available.

"Cynthia," Emmeryn called, alerting the pegasus knight.

"Hm? Oh!" Cynthia grinned. "Hey there, Lady Emmeryn!"

"No need for such formality… Just Emmeryn is fine." Emmeryn tilted her head curiously. "I'm surprised to see you, ah… on your own. I would think you would be with your sister or your mother… Or Inigo, even."

Cynthia flinched. "Y-Yeah, uh… they all were busy, heheh. I kinda wanted to explore on my own anyway."

Cynthia was never a good liar, but far be it from Emmeryn to call her out on it. "Me too."

Cynthia hesitated. "…Anyway, shouldn't you be with Frederick?"

"I wanted to explore," Emmeryn replied flatly. "I didn't want… to be babysat."

 _Whoa,_ Cynthia thought. _Babysat._ She hadn't expected such an honest answer from Emmeryn, and certainly not such a quick one. _Well,_ she reasoned, _I suck at lying, so she's prolly already figured out I wasn't being honest. If she can be so blunt, so can I._ "I, um… If I'd insisted, I probably could've tagged along with Mom," she began uncertainly. "There's no way Miss Cordelia would be upset at Mom bringing me along. I just… feel awkward around her, for now. Mom, I mean. I guess you remember why, huh?"

Emmeryn sighed. Yes, she understood as much. She had been there when Sumia and Cynthia had had the argument that divided them for so long.

"And Inigo, well…" Cynthia scratched her head sheepishly. "I, uh, I snubbed him _pretty_ hard last night. I don't think… at least, I'm not sure if even our _friendship_ will survive." She seemed to be forcing a smile, but Emmeryn caught the bitter taste hiding underneath. "…So yeah, I figured it'd be best that I don't see him today. I've been avoiding him."

"That's too bad…"

Cynthia glanced away. "I guess so. But I mean—I—I didn't do anything wrong! I made the right decision, right? Inigo brought it on himself!"

Emmeryn was lacking some context in this area, and she wasn't sure what kind of advice Cynthia wanted. So, she did what she could: "How about… I hide you from him today?"

Cynthia blinked.

"On one condition." Emmeryn smirked a bit. "Keep me company."

Cynthia put her hands on her hips, sighing. "You drive a hard bargain, Miss Emmeryn." She winked. "But with a deal like that, I guess I've got no choice but to cave, huh?"

Emmeryn giggled.

* * *

Maribelle nodded along, smiling amicably. "That's very sweet."

Nowi bounced on her toes enthusiastically. "I know, right?!" She tugged on her husband's sleeve. "I remember it was _exactly_ the third fight in Valm. Right Libra? Libraaa! Remember?!"

"Yes, yes," said Libra, chuckling patiently. "You kissed me during that battle. It was quite distracting, not to mention confusing, especially since you didn't confess your feelings until afterward."

Nah, lingering nearby, furrowed her eyebrows. "Huh? You kissed _before_ you fell in love?"

Her parents both turned to her. "Yep!" said Nowi brightly, while Libra was hastily interrupting with "I-I had no intention of laying a _finger_ on her until we were both—"

"Let's not get too detailed," Maribelle interrupted (not losing her pleasant tone), putting up her hand. "I'm certain Nah doesn't want to hear all of that."

Nah squirmed, averting her eyes. "Uh, yeah. That'd be… weird."

Lissa giggled. "You guys are so fun. How are you three, by the way?"

"We're great!" said Nowi immediately, bubbling.

"We're…" Nah glanced at her parents, then quickly away. "We're, excited." She quietly moved closer to Libra, who picked up on the hint by taking her hand securely and giving her a warm smile.

"Well, I would hate to keep you." Maribelle waved farewell. "Have fun today."

Nowi waved back, already starting to drag her family away. "Thanks! You too, you two! Hee hee!"

As she and Lissa began to walk once again, Maribelle felt a guilty pit begin to settle in her stomach. Guilt that—in spite of her suspicions—in spite of the correlation she was becoming surer and surer of—she couldn't help but feel happy for them.

* * *

"Ahoy!" The word escaped Morgan's mouth, and immediately the tactician regretted her entire life. _'Ahoy'? What the hell kind of greeting is that?!_ But she'd succeeded in catching Caeda's attention, for better or worse. "I-I mean, hi! How's it going?"

As Caeda realized who was approaching, flicker of alarm passed through her eyes, followed by a skeptical glare. "…Morgan."

"Ahaha… yup, that's, that's me." Morgan rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "Uh, I came over here to, uh…"

"Pardon me." Caeda faced Morgan directly, her expression hard. "Morgan. May I speak to you for a moment?"

Morgan blinked. "Um—"

"I have something I would like to say to you… Assuming, of course, that you'll allow me that much?"

Morgan flinched. _Okay, yeah, she's still mad._ "…S-Sure, Caeda. Speak your mind." _Please be gentle._

"I have hoped to speak with you for a while now, and I've thought hard on what I wanted to say. Now, I think I am ready."

Caeda took a breath.

"The other day, I was still a bit skeptical," she began. "Lady Maribelle had told me this and that about the Einherjar, gave explanation after plausible explanation such that it couldn't possibly be anything but the truth. However, I couldn't help but doubt, even in the face of Lady Maribelle's assertions. Some part of me clung to a—a hope, perhaps, or perhaps simply laughable incredulity, that it was all some elaborate ruse. That, in some way, I would eventually learn that all of this 'Einherjar' business was somehow false, and I was human as I thought I had always been." She paused. "…So, in a way, I suppose I should thank you."

Morgan was shivering with guilt, unable to meet Caeda's eye.

"By exercising your power over me, demonstrating my utter inability to disobey you, you showed me in a visceral manner that I am indeed a mere construct. You showed that I am not human. Now, I have no doubts." Caeda shook her head. "I cannot be angry at you, Morgan. I understand why you did what you did. It could have happened to anyone; I merely had the misfortune of being the subject of your test. …But, I cannot find it in myself to forgive you." She waited for Morgan to meet her eye, which, slowly, the tactician did. "I respect your position greatly, Morgan, but I do not wish to become friends."

Caeda started to turn away, but she paused, a wry half-smile appearing on her face. "I believe that is the first time I have ever said those words." Having finally said her piece, she walked away.

Morgan fell to her knees, gasping for air. _That… wasn't gentle at all._

* * *

"We should talk to him, shouldn't we?"

"Yes… I think we should."

"After all, it's weird to see him alone like that. Where're his parents? Where's Lucina?"

"I'm not sure…"

"Y'know, taking him on will mean _two_ people alongside you, three in total. Didn't you want to explore alone today?"

Emmeryn shook her head. "But, see… I wanted to be alone so I could meet strangers!" She smiled. "And I feel terribly about how much of a stranger I am to you… and to Brady."

They turned their eyes to the bored-looking prince strolling down the street with his hands in his pockets.

Cynthia cupped her hands around her mouth, and without regard for her surroundings, she called loudly, _"BRAAAAAA-DYYYYYYYY!"_

Brady started, looking around for the voice. When he finally determined Cynthia as the disturbance, he grew a surly curl to his brow and walked closer, shooting furtive glances over each shoulder.

Cynthia waved him over, grinning. "Hey, over here!"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya," Brady muttered, stopping before Cynthia and Emmeryn. "Quit yer shoutin'. You're botherin' the people around us, y'know." He nodded at Emmeryn. "How's it goin', Auntie?"

"'Auntie?'" Emmeryn mused. "Um… Maybe just Aunt Emmeryn? Or—Or Aunt Emm!"

Brady shrugged. "If ya say so. So how can I help y'all?"

"Where's Lucina?" Cynthia asked.

"Busy. Last I saw, she an' Morgan were hangin' out."

Cynthia sighed. "So that's where Morgan went."

"What about… my brother?" Emmeryn asked. "And your mother, too?"

"Also busy. Pa's nappin', Ma's with Aunt Lissa." Brady shrugged. "Guess I'm goin' solo today, heh."

"Come with us, then!" Cynthia chirped.

Even before he answered, Emmeryn could tell that Brady seemed reluctant, so she quickly continued to push: "I, I want to spend time with you, Brady! You're my nephew… but I feel as though we've never really spoken."

Brady seemed uncomfortable, averting his eyes. His mouth opened—and closed, uselessly searching for a reply. After another moment's indecision, he muttered, "Aight, I'll, uh… yeah. I'll tag along. May as well enjoy myself, right?"

Emmeryn smiled. "I'm glad to hear that."

* * *

Lucina's heart pounded in her chest as she strode through the milling crowds. _I just need to be honest._ She could see Marth not far ahead. _There has been more than our fair share of deception lately. I simply must be direct._ It wasn't long before she reached him; hesitantly reaching for Marth's shoulder, Lucina swallowed her hesitance. "Prince Marth." She also tapped his shoulder to surely catch the Hero-King's attention.

"Ah… Lucina." Marth smiled as he faced her. "Are you enjoying the festival?"

"I am," said Lucina pleasantly. "Actually, I've had quite a good time so far. Wh-What of you? Are you having fun?"

"Indeed. It's…" Marth glanced downward. "It's quite a… a pleasant change of pace."

Lucina winced. _Yes, it must be._

Lucina, herself, had never seen a Harvest Festival, at least not since she was able to remember… not since before Grima. The very idea of festivals was almost comical in her future past. The thought that so many people could come together and celebrate in peace… And Marth was the same way. But where Lucina had had no concept of festivities for the better part of twenty years, Marth had been drained of such hope for over a century.

 _A-All the more reason!_ Lucina thought desperately, her hand clenching around Falchion's hilt. _He must enjoy this time. Even for an immortal such as him, these pleasures are fleeting._

"Prince Marth," Lucina repeated. "Have you spoken to Caeda since your return?"

To Lucina's surprise, Marth's amicable smile quickly wilted. "No. I have not."

The princess's confusion manifested in a wrinkle to her brow, but nonetheless, she continued to smile. "Then now would be an excellent time! You should spend today's festivities together."

Marth's eyes averted.

"After all," she continued, "the two of you belong together."

Marth visibly recoiled, alarming Lucina. "N-No!" he exclaimed quickly, but the prince caught his overly-loud tone before continuing. Returning to a semblance of composure, Marth resumed, "Th… Thank you for your concern, Lucina, but I must decline. H-Have a pleasant afternoon."

Marth hastily strode away, leaving Lucina dumbfounded.

 _Wha…_ Lucina shook her head numbly. _What did I do wrong? Why did he respond so…?_

She shook her head. _No, no time for that!_ She spied his blue hair bobbing through the crowd, growing ever more distant; _If I want answers, I need only ask!_

Lucina charged after him at a sprint, calling his name loudly:

"Prince Marth, _wait!"_

* * *

The trio of Emmeryn, Cynthia, and Brady clapped along with the rest of the spectators, each wearing a smile. From their stage on the dais in the center of the outdoor dining area, the dancers all took their bows and began their exits. With the show over, the audience returned their attention to their tables and their food.

"They were very talented," Emmeryn noted, setting her cup down. "I wonder… how long did they practice that routine?"

"Months, fer sure," Brady answered immediately. He slouched against the table, his eyes still focused on the dancers even as they left. "Performances like that ain't easy. I used ta have piano recitals now an' again when I was a kid, an' that musta been _way_ less work. Way harder when ya've got a _bunch_ o' folks performin' instead o' just one." He scratched his chin. "Fer _eight_ dancers… I'd guess two months on that one dance. Bet they've got tons more, though. Who knows how long the troupe's been together."

Emmeryn blinked, glancing at Cynthia to see if she was similarly surprised by Brady's in-depth response. Instead, she was absorbed in her food, slurping up the noodles like they would disappear were she to take her eyes from them.

 _I suppose she's known Brady for a long time,_ Emmeryn thought. _She shouldn't be surprised._ A pang of envy hit her. _I feel so left out…_

"You seem very knowledgeable," said Emmeryn. "And, I didn't know that you played the piano, too?"

Brady shrugged. "Not since I was a kid, nah. I held onto my violin durin' the apocalypse, since it was portable an' all, but I didn't really wanna lug a piano around everywhere."

"Ah."

"Mm." Cynthia spoke up at last, struggling to quickly swallow a mouthful of noodles. "…Hah. Yeah, he brought that thing _everywhere._ Y'know how many meals we coulda fit in that space your violin was taking up, Brady?"

Brady snorted. "Yeah, it forced us ta leave behind all that food that didn't exist."

"Uh-huh. We could've fit so many rotting berries there, you don't even know!"

Cynthia and Brady both shared a chuckle that Emmeryn couldn't even begin to comprehend.

"Th-That sounds awful," she murmured. "I'm sorry you had to go through that…"

Both Cynthia and Brady faced her, sobering a bit. "…No, don't worry about it," Cynthia said. "I mean, we know it was crappy and all, but it was in the past… kinda. If we can't joke about it, then…"

Brady sighed. "Sorry, Aunt Emm. We usually keep those grim kinds o' jokes ta ourselves. Us future kids, I mean. We, uh… we should know better than ta say that stuff 'round anyone else. Always brings the mood down."

Emmeryn frowned deeply. "I just… I can't even imagine. N-Not long after you all found me, Lucina told me about time travel… about the future you came from… but I never got any details."

Brady and Cynthia exchanged a glance. "Uh… I mean, ya have us now," Brady said. "If you wanted to ask…"

"Can I?" Emmeryn looked between her nephew and Cynthia. "Wouldn't that bring up bad memories?"

"But it's over," Brady replied. "We ain't going back there. It's happened, it's over, and now everythin's better. No need to get so emotional over it."

"Well… I suppose I'll ask, then. Is it true that there was no food?"

"Not exactly," Cynthia said. "So, during Grima's Earth, a buncha dust went into the air. After a few years of more and more dust rising, the sun was slowly blocked out. By the time Lady Lissa was killed—I was eighteen at the time—you couldn't see the sun at all. And there was no rain, either. Endless drought. Days and nights blended together, everything started dying…"

"There wasn't no color anymore," Brady muttered. "Well, that ain't true. There was three colors." He ticked them off on his fingers: "Brown, gray, an' red. Ta be fair, now I can tell all the shades o' those colors apart."

"Hold on… Grima's Earth?" Emmeryn shook her head. "You said that as if it's a term."

"Oh, uh… might wanna ask Laurent about that, actually," said Cynthia. " _Shockingly_ , he's a bit more knowledgeable about history stuff. Could explain it better." Brady nodded his agreement.

Emmeryn mentally filed that away.

"So yeah," Cynthia continued. "It was always cold. Big plants and animals died off pretty quick. Little things like squirrels, berries, rats and such were still not _too_ hard to find. We had a few brushes with starvation, but none of the Shepherds ever died from it, I think."

"Our horses an' dragons an' pegasi were real antsy back then," Brady said. "Real gaunt. We fed them as much as we could, but a buncha times we had to abandon the big lugs so the rest of us'd be able to live." He glanced at Cynthia, who was wriggling contritely in her seat. "She knows what I'm talkin' 'bout."

"Uh… yeah. I tended to sneak my food to my pegasus if I thought she wasn't eating enough." Cynthia hung her head. "I mean, I was able to keep her alive all this time, but I got some _stern_ lectures from Lucina about 'my life being more valuable' and stuff. But I couldn't just abandon her! She was my mother's!" She winced. "Seeing—seeing how it hurt Severa when _her_ mother's pegasus got…" She shook her head, realizing that tears were threatening to surface. "No, no! I promised I wouldn't get emotional."

Brady chuckled. "Classic Cynthia, though. Horses ain't supposed ta eat meat, but you'd pass that stuff off too."

"Pegasi aren't horses! They can eat meat if they want!"

"Horses can eat meat too, dummy. They just shouldn't. Same fer pegasi."

"I feel that we're straying off topic," Emmeryn chimed in.

"Right!" Cynthia grinned. "Risen were _also_ hunters, so we had to compete against them for food too!"

Emmeryn frowned. "Risen need to eat?" That didn't add up with her experiences with them. The ghost ship she'd encountered last September couldn't have had any food on it, certainly not enough to feed dozens of Risen for months…

Brady scowled. "No. They don't. They'd hunt our food just ta starve us out. An' they were _everywhere._ Sometimes alone, sometimes travelin' in hordes. On a good day, we coulda taken pretty much any number of 'em—long as they weren't those damn Counter Entombeds—but since we was always starvin', always weak, we constantly had ta run from the big hordes."

Emmeryn frowned. "That's terrible…"

"We should write a book about all this!" Cynthia said, shaking Brady's arm excitedly.

"We'll need Laurent's help, fer sure."

"Probably."

Emmeryn cupped her hands around her drink, staring down into the milky beverage. "…This was eye-opening," she said, smiling. "Thank you so much for explaining." She looked up at the two future children. "I have another question, though…"

"Fire away, Aunt Emm."

Emmeryn brushed her thumbs over the wooden flask absently. Her smile had softened a bit sheepishly. "I-It's a bit embarrassing to ask, but… what was I like?"

Brady and Cynthia blinked.

"I mean, um… I don't remember very much. Anything, really. Feelings and images appear sometimes, but… I only know what Robin's told me about my past. I don't really know what I was _like."_ She looked between Brady and Cynthia's blank expressions. Her resolve faltered under their frozen gaze. "So… um…"

The future children exchanged a concerned glance. Brady scratched his head. "Uh… Sorry, Aunt Emmeryn, but we never… met you. Neither of us ever knew you."

"You were assassinated several years before I was born," said Cynthia quietly. "And by the time I came back to the past, it was well after you'd died in this timeline, too… R-Rather, _allegedly_ died."

Emmeryn felt that this was obvious, that she should have expected this answer, but it was nonetheless a sobering blow. "I-I see…"

"If you wanna know more stuff like that, you could ask Pa," Brady offered. "He, well… _actually_ knew you."

 _No, I couldn't do that to Chrom… I don't want him to think on what he's lost._ Emmeryn took a shaky breath. _I don't want him to wish he had the other Emmeryn instead…_

 _The other Emmeryn._ She'd never thought that way before. She had tried so hard to keep the two together, but in truth, she was not the same person who sacrificed herself three years ago. That was another Emmeryn…

And it was up to her to be an Emmeryn they would prefer.

"That's horribly unfair," Emmeryn declared. "Brady, you're my nephew. I want to get to know you, even if no other Emmeryn ever did."

Brady averted his eyes. "…Then, I s'pose I should go bring Lucina here, huh. So you can get to know the both of us."

"I can talk to her later," said Emmeryn, smiling down at Brady. "For now, I have you."

Brady was taken aback, a touch of red coloring his cheeks.

Emmeryn turned to Cynthia next. "I would dearly like to get to know you as well, Cynthia. We aren't bound by blood… but I want us to be that close, too." Old words came to Emmeryn: among the first words she could remember. "And family can transcend blood."

"'Family can transcend blood'…" Cynthia blushed intensely, tightly pursing her lips and nodding.

"Then…" Emmeryn clasped her hands, resting them on the table and leaning closer, eyes twinkling with affectionate interest. "Would you mind if I—"

A sudden uproar of shouting and clamor came from behind her, interrupting her and catching the trio's attention.

* * *

"Maribelle…"

Maribelle's ears perked as she glanced at the princess walking alongside her. "Yes, dear?"

Lissa met her eye, seeming a bit uncomfortable. She tugged on the noble's sleeve. "Hold on for a second."

Curiously, Maribelle stopped walking, and she and Lissa faced each other as the peaceful crowd continued to pass them by.

"What's the matter?"

Lissa took a slightly impatient breath. She could tell _something_ was off about Maribelle, but she didn't know what, except that there was some correlation with the questions she kept asking everyone. Plus, either Maribelle was really good at faking having a good time, or she actually was having fun, and Lissa didn't want to sour her mood by prying into whatever it was Maribelle was so worked up over. If Maribelle didn't want to tell _Lissa,_ of all people, then it was something personal.

"I'm really glad you agreed to join me today," said Lissa, smiling brightly. "I mean, you're my best friend, but we've still barely gotten to even see each other for the past few weeks."

Maribelle smiled in kind—and Lissa could tell there was a bit of relief hiding under there. Relief that Lissa didn't nose around where Maribelle didn't want her to.

"We've always been like family, y'know?" Lissa nudged Maribelle. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm glad we're _literally_ family now."

"I feel the same way." Maribelle tilted her head. "What makes you bring that up? If you don't mind me asking."

Lissa shrugged. "I guess I've just been thinking about it a lot, since we've been talking with so many others about their love lives. …Aaand I wanted to see if I could call you nothing but 'Sis-In-Law' for the rest of my life."

Maribelle laughed daintily. "Aha, no, I might have to refuse you that one request. I _am_ flattered, though."

They continued walking at last. Lissa's infectious cheer had thoroughly invaded Maribelle, to the point where she had to wonder: _Why am I obsessing over this so frantically? Everything worked out, after all._

But despite the stab of optimism Lissa had inspired in her, one concern remained.

That thought would have to wait, however; a sudden commotion rang from further down the street, catching the two nobles' attention.

* * *

"Prince Marth, _wait!"_

As the words escaped Lucina while she ran, she noticed Marth instantly halt, clearly bristling as if struck by a thrown rock. The princess slowed to a halt as she neared Marth, who was also turning to face her, fear in his eyes.

Lucina frowned. The alarm in Marth's expression was… well, likewise alarming. Before she could express her confusion, however, she took sudden note of their surroundings.

The streets were wide, yes, and well-accommodating for such massive crowds, but still, a crowd there was. Several passersby had halted, watching Lucina and Marth with curiosity. Lucina realized that she must have caught their attention with her shouting, but she paid it little heed. Indeed, many of them were returning to their milling about anyway.

"Marth," she repeated, "please reconsider—"

However, a nearby stranger's voice caught her attention: a middle-aged man walking with his wife. "Weird," the man said to his wife. "It's pretty strange ta be named after the Hero-King."

Another nearby stranger suddenly tensed with alarm. "N-No, she said _Prince_ Marth!" She leveled her pointer finger at Lucina and Marth. "Gods, that—that _is_ Marth! It's an Einherjar!"

That word, _Einherjar_ , immediately caught the attention of most of the citizens surrounding the two royals. It wasn't long before all eyes were on them, and the pedestrians in the immediate vicinity backed away with apparent alarm.

"I should never have come here," Marth said quietly, smiling without humor. "I should have waited outside the city, as most of us did…"

As she beheld the fear and loathing in the citizens' eyes, the gravity of Lucina's error began to settle as a painful ache in her stomach. This was her fault, and should they take violent action, she could not stop them.

"They are right to fear the Einherjar," Marth murmured. "Old Hubba inspired that in them over the course of a century."

"I'm so sorry," Lucina whispered. She couldn't look away from the petrified crowd. "I was careless…" _…And what is the price of my error?_

"No, _I_ was careless," Marth replied. "Lucina—I want you to return me to my card. That should make this right."

Her eyes snapped onto him, horrified. "N-No! You'll lose all of your memories!"

Before Marth could reply, a stranger's voice rang out: "What the hell is the meaning of this, bringing one o' those monsters into our city?!"

The crowd broiled in agreement, fear replaced with determination now that they had a rallying voice.

"Are you in league with that old man?!"

"Gods, we were complacent! Just because we haven't had any trouble in over a year…"

Lucina took a hesitant, fruitless step back. Marth's eyes were fixed on the ground, empty.

"Have they been among us this whole time?! What if—"

"Hey!"

A girl's voice pierced the crowd, and one of their own marched forward.

No, not one of their own… Lucina's heart swelled, and she said breathlessly, "Morgan…!"

However, the tactician wore a stern expression as she marched closer, and as she drew even with Marth and Lucina, she turned on her heel to address the crowd.

"Yo!" she exclaimed, with a straight face. "Y'all need to chill out! This Einherjar is Marth, and he's _mine."_ She gestured at Lucina. "Show them his card."

Lucina started, then scrambled for her pockets in order to produce the card. She then raised it high; the crowd's eyes followed it.

"As you can see, Marth isn't under Old Hubba's control," Morgan explained seriously. "In fact, we beat him up and _rescued_ his Einherjar! You can visit him in jail, if you don't believe me." She seized Marth's and Lucina's wrists, to their surprise. "And more than that, he's my friend! If you've got a problem with that, you can submit a formal complaint to the Exalt of Ylisse." She briefly released Lucina's arm to raise a peace sign: "Later, bitches!" And she then led Lucina and Marth away from the bemused crowd.

Lucina blinked dumbly as she was dragged along by the young tactician. "…Gods, do you think that convinced them?"

"Seriously doubt it," Morgan said. From this close, Lucina could see that Morgan, despite her show of confidence earlier, was sweating and flush with color. "But they won't do anything. These people are too used to peace. They'd rather see things blow over… I hope." She cleared her throat. "J-Just don't look back. We should head to a different part of the city to be safe."

"Okay…"

…

Elsewhere in the crowd, Caeda frowned, crossing her arms and watching them go.

* * *

"G-Goodness," Emmeryn murmured, watching the crowd gradually, reluctantly disperse. She turned back to Brady and Cynthia, who wore equal looks of relief.

"That could've been bad," Cynthia said, letting out a breath. "Like _really_ bad, for all of us."

"Can't believe we almost let that happen," muttered Brady. "Why'd we bring any Einherjar here, huh? Wasn't _anybody_ usin' their brain?"

"We were so preoccupied with our victory," Emmeryn replied somberly. "And too eager to see Robin… This was an easy mistake to make, but—"

"But it worked out," Cynthia chimed in. "Okay? This wouldn't happen to practically any other Einherjar. None of them are as famous as Marth."

Brady buried his face in his hands. "Gawds, I'm glad we're leavin' tomorrow…"

"Yeah," Cynthia conceded. "Man, those villagers were quick to get riled up. Kinda easily-spooked if you ask me."

"It makes sense, though," Emmeryn answered. "Most if not all of them are rescues… The Annas brought them in from doomed timelines. I think… it's pretty understandable that they would be so defensive."

"That's crazy," Brady said. "The Annas do that?"

"According to a few strangers I spoke to, yes."

"They must know tragedy," said Cynthia. "These guys know what _impermanence_ is." She looked down at the table. "They know that their world could be taken from them if they aren't careful…"

Brady grimaced. "…Yeah. And what with the old man threatenin' their Outrealm, which they thought was a safe haven, musta been an eye-opener."

"Long story short," Cynthia chuckled, "we _definitely_ should've left the Einherjar outside."

Emmeryn frowned determinedly. "A-And deprive them of the festivities? That's…" She shook her head. "No, I think the risk was worth it. They deserve to have fun… just as much as the rest of us."

Reluctantly, Cynthia and Brady both agreed with her.

"Anyway…" Brady gestured vaguely. "I wonder what the deal is with this whole 'Springrealm' place. Before the Annas got involved, this musta been a barren Outrealm like the others we've seen." He narrowed his eyes. "Well, if _'before'_ is even a concept out here."

"Mm…" Cynthia rested her chin on her arms. "I wonder if this Outrealm is like the other ones so far? Who knows, this might be a parallel Archanea!" She grinned. "Oh, and this could be Macedon that we're in right now! If that's the case, then…" She looked around, before sighing. "Nah, no mountains around… and the architecture's too modern, too."

Emmeryn smiled. "You seem to know your history, Cynthia."

"Yup, she's real into that stuff," Brady muttered. "She used to be _super_ annoyin' 'bout it, Aunt Emm."

"I sure was!" Cynthia sat up, grinning brightly. "Because it was _fun!_ And you know what isn't fun?"

"Thinking about dying," said Brady and Cynthia at the same time, at which point they both chuckled.

Realizing they had made another of their dark jokes that they had promised to stop making, but not willing to bring attention to that, Emmeryn pressed her curiosity elsewhere. "Why history, though?"

"Well…" Cynthia propped her cheek on her fist, thoughtful. "Y'know how you think about where you are, and you've got a lingering thought in the back of your mind, like 'I can't wait for this and that,' or 'I'm sure things are gonna get better,' or whatever? Like, for now, we've all got the same thought in the back of our heads: 'I can't wait 'til we find Dad.'"

"Sure…"

"Well, back in our time, the future wasn't bright," Cynthia explained. "Even that saying, 'the future is bright,' was actually laughable. People would crack wise with that expression all the time. Dark humor, yeah, but it was all we could do." She twirled a finger through one of her pigtails. "The past, though, _was_ bright. The sun, the food, the civilization. I always looked backwards to the way things were. I wanted to _be_ there, I wanted to stop wondering who would die next, I wanted to live in a time where I didn't have to sneak the day's rations to my pegasus just so I wouldn't have to mercy-kill her, I wanted to stop missing Mom and Dad and Morgan…"

Emmeryn frowned curiously at the pegasus knight, wondering what she meant by that, but waited for Cynthia to finish. She didn't notice when Brady harshly tensed and began to avoid Cynthia's eye.

Cynthia shook her head. "But then my dream came true, didn't it? I got to reunite with everyone! I got to meet everyone I'd hoped to!" She beamed at Emmeryn. "I'd heard so many stories about you when I was growing up, and I had hoped so bad that I would be able to meet you, Aunt Emm."

Emmeryn raised her eyebrows, while Cynthia hastily started backpedaling: "I-I mean, that just kinda slipped out, I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's fine," said Emmeryn pleasantly, resting her hand over Cynthia's. "Please, call me Aunt Emm. It's very flattering." That conversation seemed to be over, so she turned to Brady. "Well, what about you, Brady? What are your interests?"

"Music, obviously," said Brady.

They were quiet for a moment.

"…Is that all?"

"'Is that all,'" Brady scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, music ain't the most badass profession, but it's—"

"No, no, I just meant to ask, 'Is that all you have to say about it?'"

Brady blinked. "Uh… oh. Yeah, that makes more sense, comin' from you. Uh… I guess I just really wanna be a violinist, y'know? Like, just playin' the violin for a career, forever."

"That sounds lovely," said Emmeryn. "But… you seemed oddly defensive about it. Are you often criticized for that dream?"

Brady huffed, looking away. "Nah, not really. Least, not to my face. But c'mon, _music?_ Fer a _prince?_ Look at Luce. Savior of the world, inheritor of Falchion… now _she's_ royalty. Meanwhile, her pissant little brother just wants ta make pretty sounds."

"That's absolutely absurd. Music is _definitely_ a worthwhile profession, especially for you." Emmeryn met Brady's gaze with determination. "Picture this: Lucina, a princess, the picture of nobility, the backbone of her country. And you, a prince, the artistic contrast of tough and elegant. His strong look belies his tranquil talent. He looks the part of prince, but he can bring grown adults to tears with his art." She leaned closer to Brady, taking his hands in hers. "Pursue music, Brady. You're amazing at it, and everyone knows it. You _deserve_ to pursue the dream you want, free of judgment, once we return home. You've more than earned it."

Cynthia and Brady were both flabbergasted.

After a moment of stunned silence, Cynthia was the first to regain her bearing at last, and still she had to clear her throat first. "That's… Wow. Never knew you could be so verbose, Aunt Emm."

"For real," Brady echoed.

Emmeryn blinked. "I—um… hm, you're right." She let go of Brady's hands and sat back. "I suppose… I was rather defensive, myself. Hearing you play last night was… rather… emotional. It brought feelings out of me that I haven't felt for… well…" She frowned. "For a very long time. To hear you doubt your skill made me… question my own emotions, I suppose."

Cynthia looked down. "Yeah, it was definitely emotional. The kind of music to really make someone… get carried away."

They were all quiet for a moment.

"A-Anyway…" Emmeryn shook her head clear. "Tell me more about your passion for music… Truly, I want to understand how you do it."

"Aunt Emm…" Brady couldn't fight a little grin. "…Yeah, okay. If you're sure."

* * *

Maribelle was surprised to find that the exact person she'd been looking for had conveniently delivered herself. Sumia was frowning and crossing her arms, asking, "Wow, what did I miss? There was something _loud_ going on over here."

Lissa quickly responded, bursting with energy: "Morgan saved Lucina and Marth from a frothing mob in the most badass way possible!"

Sumia looked to Maribelle for clarification, to which the noble replied, "They seem to be distrustful of Einherjar."

"Oh, gotcha."

"Anyway, now that that's behind us," Lissa said, waving it away. "What have you been up to, Sumia? Glad to be back?"

"Very!" She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. "I was catching up with Cordelia all afternoon, but she wanted to share dinner with her family before the fireworks start at sunset. After I wished her luck on convincing Severa to join her, we split up. All that talk of dinner made me realize that I was hungry, too! For food _and_ for the company of my girls, that is."

Maribelle took a step closer: "Ah, how are you, by the way? You and your family?"

Sumia hesitated. "Well… to be honest, I'm not really sure. Cynthia and I are only barely back on good terms, and I still haven't apologized to Morgan either for how distant I've been…"

"It'll work out, I know it," Lissa said, grinning. "Your family's strong. Really strong! You belong together."

"We belong…" A smile dawned on Sumia's face. "Yeah, we really do, don't we?"

"Your ties are strong indeed," said Maribelle. "Robin was especially adept at forging those ties; of course his family would obtain that same strength."

"Yeah!" Sumia pumped her fists. "Y'know, I baked a pie on the same day I met him, not knowing I'd be sharing it with him. But I did! That morning, I didn't even know him, and by evening I was sharing dessert with him! We _are_ meant to be!" She hopped from foot to foot excitedly. "Ooh, I'm so _pumped!_ I'm gonna eat the HECK out of my dinner tonight—And then, Robin's next!" She cast her pointer finger at the horizon: "Wait for us, my love! We'll be back together in no time!" She turned back to Lissa and Maribelle (both wearing bemused expressions). "Now, I'm off!" She started to sprint away—and got as far as one step before she froze. "Er, that is… do you know where my daughters are?"

Lissa pointed, and with a quick "Thanks," Sumia left (much more normally this time).

"She reads too many books," Lissa noted.

"Yes." Maribelle looked away. "Yes she does."

"…Wait!"

Again, Maribelle and Lissa turned to face Sumia.

"Where's the Captain?" Sumia asked. "I hoped Chrom would be with you."

"He is resting in our lodgings," Maribelle answered. "He has been there most of the day."

Sumia frowned. "I thought so! So he hasn't enjoyed any of the festivities, has he?"

"I suppose not…"

Sumia clasped her hands around Maribelle's. "Do you mind if I invite him to dinner with me and my kids? I think it would be good for him to get out of bed, _plus_ I haven't really spoken to him much since I got back."

"I…"

Lissa nudged Maribelle with her elbow. "C'mon, Maribelle. He'd really like that."

Maribelle breathed evenly, shaking off her hesitation. "…Yes, of course. But!" She raised her finger. "Do not think to hog him during the fireworks!" She smiled slightly. "At that time, he is mine."

Sumia saluted. "You got it!" And at that, she finally left.

* * *

"This wasn't your fault."

Morgan had shot that remark at Lucina, alongside a conflicted grin, before she'd left the princess behind with Marth. Lucina hadn't had the chance to reply, and Marth seemed as dumbfounded as her. Both blue-haired royals numbly watched the tactician go.

"…But she's wrong," said Marth. "This _was_ my fault."

Lucina's eyes locked onto him, shocked. "Wh-What? No, on the contrary! It was my own—"

"Lucina." Marth winced, but when he glanced down at her, he grew a little smile. "Even as the words left my mouth, I grew tired of them. Maybe… we've spent enough time trying to shoulder the full blame."

Lucina frowned thoughtfully. "I feel that it is my _place_ to shoulder the blame, especially when I am truly at fault for incensing the mob. That seems to be an irresponsible line of thinking."

Marth chuckled. "Perhaps. But doesn't that tire you?"

"Would it matter if it did?" Lucina squeezed her hand around Falchion's hilt. "It is the role I was born in."

"But—please correct me if I'm mistaken—isn't it true that that _isn't_ your role any longer?"

Lucina was taken aback, such that she had to laugh incredulously. "What? Of course it is."

Marth watched her for a moment, seemingly rolling his thoughts around, before he settled on, "Lucina, would you like to sit for a moment?"

"…As you wish."

Lucina and Marth turned toward the fringe of the city streets, where a scant number of park benches lay available. The two royals seated themselves there.

For a short time, they simply watched the crowd stroll by, took notice of the decorative balloons adorning each building, analyzed the festive outfits many of the locals wore. The ambience relaxed Lucina. She spotted a family of three—a father and a mother holding the hands of their young daughter, swinging the giggling child along cheerfully.

Lucina propped her elbow onto the arm of the bench, and rested her cheek in her palm, growing a fond, yet curious, smile. The family continued to walk, and the princess's eye followed them until they escaped her view. There was something about that little girl that struck Lucina as very—extremely, rather—

 _Familiar._

She sat up at rigid attention, Marth's meaning suddenly making itself known to her. "That _isn't_ my role," she murmured.

Marth glanced at her briefly, then looked forward.

"Gods, I was even thinking about this earlier with regards to Brady…" Lucina's posture relaxed again, her expression settling into a frown. "We are not who we were. I may have been the Exalt in the future, but now, in this time, I am… no one." She shook her head, grimacing. "That little girl—she was just like me. Watching her, I was reminded suddenly of the last Harvest Festival I attended. Even… My mother and my father even held my hands in the same way. But that was in the future, in a time and place that now never happened, never existed. That little girl resembles… _this_ time's Lucina… more than she does me."

Marth smiled slightly, knowingly.

"I am not the Exalt." Lucina slumped, again resting her cheek in her palm. "I am no one… Do the others from my time feel this same disconnect? Have they also realized this same sense of being an im—?"

Lucina gasped, going rigid for a second time and staring at Marth. Realization piled onto her.

"…An impostor," Marth finished quietly, still smiling. "Yes, I would imagine the thought has crossed their minds."

Lucina clenched her hands and rested them atop her lap, nearly trembling. "G-Gods…"

Marth glanced at her again. "I suppose you and I aren't very different after all, are we?"

Lucina shook her head. "I s-suppose not…"

Marth smiled at her for a moment longer, before he finally stood at last. "I apologize for my selfishness, Lucina. I adamantly refused your help earlier out of that same feeling. You heard what I said yesterday."

 _I am Marth! Prince Marth, descendent of Anri, the man who would become the legendary Hero-King! And Lucina—Lucina, champion from such a desolate world, twice the hero of anyone I'd ever met—deserves an ancestor she can be proud of._

"I guess, in some way, I didn't fully believe my own words," Marth resumed. "I have failed Caeda too much, I thought. I have lived too long and seen too much, I thought. Lucina, I will not lie to you: I am still in love with Caeda, as much as I have ever been. However, I have felt undeserving of her. Undeserving of even _pursuing_ her."

Lucina bit her lip.

"But you and I are not so different." Marth's smile quirked. "You deserve an ancestor that sets a proper example. And Lucina, you are human. You are a person with a bright future ahead, one that you can set for yourself without heeding your false past. So too will I move forward: as a human."

Lucina shook her head, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Marth, "that I will accept your advice." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "…I imagine the fireworks at sunset will be a lovely time to spend with her."

A smile dawned on Lucina's face as the Hero-King confidently strode away.

"Marth…"

* * *

Morgan scratched her head, frowning, as she noticed the pegasus knight's approach. Caeda's look was as serious as before, but this time Morgan's expression was equally hard. The tactician gestured vaguely behind herself; "I don't suppose you saw that whole show?"

"I did."

Morgan put her hands on her hips, sighing. "I'm not exactly my father. He was—is—really good at reading people. Always knows what to say. Still, I like to think I've inherited a bit of that." She met Caeda's eye. "The Einherjar aren't toys to me, Caeda."

Caeda frowned, crossing her arms.

"When you heard my whole spiel, you must've thought something like 'She's only doing that so she doesn't lose her precious Einherjar.' I can see all that skepticism on your face. But that's not true at all, Caeda. Truth be told, if I wanted them to be _really_ secure, I'd put all of you back in your cards, stuff those cards in a little box, and keep that box in my pocket." Morgan smiled a bit wistfully. "Caeda… I really, really wish you and I could be friends like Lucina and Marth are. Thing is, I know that's never gonna happen. I'm really a sorry kind of person. I took advantage of your trappings as an Einherjar in a traumatizing way. And you know the worst part?" Morgan threw her hands up, laughing weakly. "I don't even regret it!"

Caeda's eyes narrowed.

"That knowledge was really valuable, and we had to get it one way or another. It was vicious, what I did, but it _was_ necessary, and more importantly, it was a reminder of the kind of feeling that power inspires." Morgan crossed her arms, mirroring Caeda. "I was excited when I saw you holding that sword, Caeda. I was thinking stuff like, 'No way is she gonna do it,' and 'This is so neat!' All while you were crying and begging for me to stop you."

Caeda's knuckles were clenched white on her arms.

"Lemme tell you something, Caeda," continued Morgan. "I was disgusted. My _reflex_ was morbid curiosity. When I had the power to make you _murder_ yourself, my first thought was 'Let's try it out.' I was conflicted, too, like 'Should I let her go all the way, just to be absolutely sure?'…" Morgan shook her head. "It took conscious effort to remind myself that you're _still_ human. You're an Einherjar, but you're still human. Your tears were real, your fear was real—you're _real_. I had to force myself to think in your shoes. _That_ was when I realized what a monster I was being. I—I was overwhelmed. It was so scary, what I'd almost done to another person without even batting an eye." Morgan took a breath. "Back then, Caeda, I learned what power does to me. Because of you, I know how it messes with my head. So, thanks. I really owe you a lot. I want you to… have fun. To live a little, y'know? And with Marth here too, I just… Well, I wanted to make it up to you somehow." Morgan dropped her hands to her sides and inclined her head forward. "I know we can't be friends, but you still deserve a tactician you can trust. I'm going to be that tactician for you, I _promise."_ She straightened her back and offered a hand for Caeda to shake, grinning. "I'm gonna try my best to impress you, just you wait. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Princess."

Caeda watched Morgan's hand, conflict in her expression. She slowly reached for that hand, clasping hers around Morgan's stalwartly. "…I suppose I'm counting on you, then," said Caeda, smiling a bit. "You enjoy your evening, as well. Tomorrow you'll have to put your money where your mouth is."

"You're right about that." Morgan glanced over her shoulder. "And would you look at who's coming?"

Caeda followed her eye, noticing, as Morgan was implying, that Marth was striding closer through the crowd. "Ah…"

"I'll leave the two of you alone," said the tactician with a wink. "See you, Caeda."

"Of course."

Morgan turned on her heel and left the princess behind, watching her draw closer to the Hero-King. Both wore smiles, already beginning to talk about whatever, as they walked away together.

Morgan turned her eyes forward, breathing in uncomfortably. "That went better than I expected…" She looked around. "Now what to do…? Oh." Sumia and Cynthia were walking together, both waving goodbyes to Brady and Emmeryn and walking in Morgan's direction. Morgan sighed with relief. "Gods, I hope that means dinner. Honestly, I shoulda just eaten that shark meat instead of throwing it away…"

She swallowed, trying to clear out the fearful lump from her throat. Composed, she approached her mother and sister, already forcing forward a cheerful expression for them.

* * *

"Knock, knock," came a cheerful, familiar voice, accompanied by actual knocks. Chrom's brow furrowed, and he swiveled his chair away from the desk to face the door.

"It's open," he said, and the door peeked slightly open. Sumia leaned through the gap she'd made, beaming at Chrom.

"You're awake! Cool!" She opened the door wide, spreading the hall's light through Chrom's dimly-lit bedroom. "I thought you were napping. What're you up to?"

"Oh." Chrom glanced back at the papers on his desk. "Just woke up from a nap and thought I'd review the Einherjar roster. A hundred names to keep track of, figured I might as well learn who all we have."

"Can it wait?" Sumia gestured over her shoulder. "Mind coming to dinner with me and my girls? I was just gonna have it in my room downstairs, since we have a table."

"Morgan and Cynthia?" Chrom smiled. "Yeah, that sounds great. Where's Maribelle?"

"She's still spending time with your sister. That reminds me, we've gotta finish dinner before the fireworks start! I don't wanna be at the end of your wife's parasol, haha."

"Fair enough." Wincing slightly, Chrom pushed himself out of his chair. "Let's get going, then! I'm starving."

* * *

It felt _right._

Chrom couldn't fight an unwavering little grin as he divided his steak via fork and knife, listening to the clinking of Morgan, Cynthia, and Sumia doing the same at their sides of the square table. The waning sunlight drifting through Sumia's window enforced the peaceful aesthetic.

 _I'm glad we have this time to talk._

"So Morgan's been doing a good job?" Sumia asked. Smiling, she nudged the girl in question. "I'm so proud! Robin's job wasn't easy!"

Morgan exhaled. "I _know,_ right?! I can't believe Dad could do all this stuff himself! I've only been able to stick to the actual _tactical_ stuff. Had to delegate a lot of the logistical stuff."

"Still," said Chrom, swallowing a mouthful of steak, "there's no downplaying how well you've performed the past few days. Your results have mirrored Robin's. And," he added with a smile, "I'm glad we're friends now. I never would have gotten to know you so well otherwise."

Morgan flushed red and hunched over her food. "It, it wasn't _that_ great…"

"And you too, Cynthia," Chrom resumed, turning his attention to the other future child. Cynthia was already flushed the same color in anticipation. "You've been _exceptional._ You've _always_ been exceptional, truth be told, but our trip here in the Outrealms really opened my eyes to how capable you really are, in the field and out."

"Th-Thanks, I guess…"

"Well, what about you, Captain?" Sumia prodded. "You kinda skimmed over your fights with Eldigan and Ephraim and so on when you were catching me up yesterday, but everyone else filled me in on how cool _you've_ been. You humble little man…"

Chrom frowned. "But it really wasn't anything," he began. "I was just—"

He paused, exchanging a glance with Morgan and Cynthia; all three were sprouting little grins as they slowly realized that they all had had the exact same reactions to praise. They quickly burst into laughter at themselves, joined by Sumia.

"Maybe…" Chrom said, settling down into a smile, "maybe we should just learn to take compliments, huh?"

Morgan and Cynthia nodded. "Yeah, you betcha."

"Anyway… I'm just really glad things have gone so smoothly." Sumia met Morgan's eye, then Cynthia's, then Chrom's. "I'm sure there were ups and downs, but it seems like things turned out okay."

"Ugh, why would you _say_ that?" Cynthia said, and the table shared a chuckle.

Chrom patted above his injured hip. "I'll be willing to admit things turned out okay when _this_ thing's gone."

"Ha! Fair, fair."

"How was last night, by the way?" Chrom asked. "Did you dance?"

"Yup! I was kinda passed around like a water canteen though." Sumia made the others laugh with that. "Like, I get why people would be interested to see me back, but pretty much _everyone_ wanted to talk a bit. It was kinda nice to be the center of attention, though."

Chrom gestured between Morgan and Cynthia. "Did you get to dance with them, at least?"

"Nah," Morgan interjected. "That is, I was dancing with Nah." She smirked. "And _some_ _~body_ was dancing with _Inigo."_

Chrom brightened, while Cynthia was shrinking with embarrassment. "Oh, right! Inigo!" He grinned at Cynthia. "How are you two?"

"I—I mean, it's…" Cynthia's eyes flitted this way and that, as if looking for an escape from the situation. Meanwhile, Sumia and Morgan were both giggling.

"Did anything happen?" Chrom pried eagerly. "Don't tell me…"

"Did you kiss?" Morgan finished, and Cynthia flushed redder than ever.

"I—well—we _did,_ but—"

Chrom beamed. "Wow, good for you two!"

"C'mon, guys, cut it out…" Cynthia brushed a lock of hair over her ear anxiously. "Things didn't go well after that."

"Oh. Hm." Chrom settled down a little bit, as did Morgan and Sumia. "Well, I'm sorry to hear about that. And I guess I shouldn't have pried so much, either."

Cynthia brushed a finger along her eye, wiping away the nascent semblance of a tear, and she smiled up at Chrom. The blush was diminishing from her expression when she thoughtlessly replied, "Thanks, Dad."

Immediately, the blush returned in full force, and Cynthia hid her face behind her hands. _I didn't! I freaking didn't! Twice in one day?! I'm such a—such a…_ Overwhelming shame piled onto her.

Noticing the table had fallen quiet, Chrom chuckled a little bit, dismissing Cynthia's slip with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, Cynthia." He laughed again.

The laugh was brief, however, as he soon realized he was the only one participating. Looking between Cynthia and Morgan, both wore plainly the same red-faced shame. They seemed… _actually_ humiliated, the both of them. And Sumia was silent, seeming to have no reaction to Cynthia's meaningless slip of the tongue.

Chrom's eyes narrowed skeptically as he surveyed the quiet table. There was no reason for them to act so strangely, right? Cynthia could easily have played it off the same way Chrom tried to, but her mouth was fruitlessly sealed, no excuse available to her. "You can't… You two can't _actually_ see me like a father, right? You just mean something father-figure-ish?"

Cynthia couldn't meet his eye. "…Chrom, I… well."

Sumia tensed, hands tightly gripping her utensils. Chrom furrowed his eyebrows at Cynthia's disappointing answer.

"Let me put it this way, Chrom," said Morgan quietly. Like Cynthia's, Morgan's eyes were downcast. "If she hadn't slipped up just then, _I_ would've."

 _Don't you think the 'you have a thing for me' jokes are getting a bit old?_

 _Yeah. It just feels… wrong, y'know? It's like—it's—gross._

Chrom scoffed, shaking his head. "Well, what about Robin?"

Morgan finally met his eye, fiercely. "In the interest of _not keeping secrets,_ I'm gonna be totally honest, Captain." Determination wavering, she looked down once again. "Truth be told… what _about_ him?"

Chrom had no idea what to say to that.

"Chrom, we both reunited with him last July," said Cynthia. "Me first, Morgan a couple weeks later. He died—he _disappeared_ last December."

"We only knew him for a couple months, Captain, _plus_ it was wartime, where we were always busy." Morgan was quivering. "Meanwhile, we've known you for more than a year, most of it peacetime… time to spend with each other, which we did, in Ylisstol. Like a family."

Cynthia started to speak, but her breath hitched. She then tried again with more success. "Back then, right after I joined… for a minute, _juuuust_ a minute, we were a complete family again. My parents were back, and… so was my sister, even. Wh-When he left, I…" Cynthia hesitated. "Chrom, you've made it feel like… we're _still_ a family. You've been so good to us. You're like the father I've lost… twice."

Chrom glanced at Sumia to judge her reaction. Like her daughters, she was trembling, wracked by the unfettered aggression of Morgan and Cynthia's words, but she still had no response.

And Chrom couldn't deny that all this was upsetting to him as well. They were striking a tender nerve, that same doubt in his mind: _I haven't spent this much time with my_ own _child._ Little Lucina back in Ylisstol had spent most of her life so far without her father. This _was_ humiliating, not just for Morgan and Cynthia.

Their claim highlighted his very failures as a parent.

"I am _not_ your father," he snarled, with far more venom than he had intended. "Robin is your father, _not_ me." Both Morgan and Cynthia visibly flinched, taken painfully aback; a little surprised himself at their horrified reactions, Chrom took a breath and eased his temper down. "…That came out harsher than I meant. I'm just saying that, once we find Robin, you two will have all the time in the world to bond with him." He rolled his thoughts around, composing them tactfully. "I'm… honored… that you value me that much, but we aren't family."

"Family transcends blood."

When Emmeryn had learned that phrase three years ago after awakening in an unforgiving new world, it had inspired hope in her, hope that she had thought would be well-suited to Cynthia's plight. Now, as Cynthia repeated those words to the quiet dinner table, Cynthia could only watch as color drained from Chrom's and Sumia's expressions, neither having a reprisal to her bleak assertion.

Seeing Chrom and Sumia both growing increasingly distraught, Morgan realized that her sister had found the line and crossed it. In a last-ditch attempt at peace, Morgan stood from the table and urged, "The, the f-fireworks are gonna start soon, aren't they? We need to get outside to watch them!" When nobody moved, she added sharply, _"Now."_

Halfheartedly, her sister, her mother, and _not_ her father followed her directions and slowly mobilized to exit Sumia's bedroom.

Not a word passed between the four as they walked outside.

* * *

The Crossroad's streets had been crowded when the sun was high. Now, as the sun dipped under the horizon, the city was _packed._ Emmeryn and Brady counted themselves lucky for having found this spot at a table before the real crowds had arrived.

"Seems the fireworks are the main event," Emmeryn murmured, watching the masses stroll past.

"Lotta locals are headin' outside the city," Brady added gruffly. "Goin' for the hills just past the gates, I bet. Good spot to watch the fireworks from."

"I've noticed… Some Shepherds went that way as well."

"Mm."

A piercing whistle seared through the air, and all eyes turned upwards to experience the first firework of the night. A cascade of magical red light burst in the sky, painting the Crossroad the same color.

As the streets returned to darkness, Emmeryn found a smile had permanently affixed itself to her face. "My goodness, that… that takes me back."

Brady glanced at her. "Y'mean Ylisstol, right?"

"Mm-hm. The celebrations after Grima fell…" Emmeryn's eyes sparkled as she beheld a new pair of fireworks light up the sky. "Were those your first fireworks, too?"

"Uh-huh."

"How… interesting, don't you think?" Emmeryn glanced down at her nephew. "I'm surprised how much we have in common."

Brady frowned thoughtfully, still watching the sky. A pleased smile on her face, Emmeryn fell quiet and followed suit.

"…Aunt Emm, I feel bad." Brady was still watching the sky. "To be frank, I, uh… I never gave ya much thought in the future. I mean, I never knew you, y'know? None of us did. We'd heard stories, but between missin' you and missin' our parents or other people we'd lost, you just… lost the competition. Least, not outside o' talks like 'what should we do first when we get back to the past? Save the Exalt, that's what.' So, uh… sorry." He was twiddling his thumbs. "I'm like, flabbergasted. Spendin' all afternoon with ya really opened my eyes to what I missed out on."

A chill ran through Emmeryn at Brady's words. "That's, that's so kind."

"What can I say? I love ya, Aunt Emm."

Emmeryn glowed. "I love you too, Brady."

"Then…" Brady glanced at her, then away. Unless Emmeryn's eyes deceived her in the darkness, she thought she caught tears glistening in the boy's eyes. "We should, uh, hang out more. Y'think?"

"Yes, I do think. After all… neither of us has seen an _Ylissean_ harvest festival, right?"

Brady chuckled. "Heheh, right."

* * *

Lissa pointed. "There he is! Right on time, too. See, now you don't have to kill anyone!"

"Ahaha." Maribelle patted the parasol lying in the grass next to her, smiling. "Shoot. I was almost looking forward to it, too."

Lissa laughed, and stood as Chrom drew closer. "Oi, Chrom! I've hogged your wife long enough, so I figured I'd find you guys a good spot on the hill and bail."

Chrom ran a hand through his hair, sighing with a little grin. "Thanks, sis. See you."

She gave him a double thumbs-up as she left.

Chrom rumbled with a low groan as he eased himself to sit next to Maribelle on the hill. Her brow furrowed with concern at his exertion, but he soon settled comfortably next to her. After exchanging a smile, husband and wife turned their eyes forward to the city.

"I'm glad you found this hill alright," said Maribelle.

"I was lucky I ran into Owain, honestly. He directed me here and told me, 'Please send Mom back here already, Dad's getting overly huggy.'"

"Hahaha." She curled her fingers through Chrom's. "What about Sumia and her kids?"

It didn't escape her that Chrom tensed slightly. "…They went their own way."

"Did something happen?"

"It's…" Chrom huffed impatiently. "Cynthia and Morgan were being weird. That's all it was, but for some reason it got to me." _It's because they weren't joking this time._

"Hmm." Maribelle tilted her head. "Well… How was your day?"

"Mediocre at best, to be honest. Though I _did_ get in a good nap."

"Well, that's something."

"How about you?" Chrom leaned his head toward Maribelle.

She reciprocated, resting her head against his. "I had fun, of course. Lissa brightens everything around her."

"I'm glad."

They sat in silence. A trio of multicolored fireworks popped over the city. Then more, and more.

Maribelle slid closer to Chrom, adjusting her head to rest on his shoulder. She released a long sigh.

Chrom watched the fireworks with a stony expression, his hand clutching hers tightly.

* * *

No words had passed between Cynthia, Morgan, and Sumia since they had split off from Chrom. Sumia's expression was still blank, numb. She hadn't spoken a word since dinner. While Morgan and Cynthia knew that this was their fault, they couldn't find it in themselves to break the silence.

An apology seemed inappropriate. Like it would be insincere.

So, Morgan was lucky to find a handy excuse to escape come their way. "Ah, that's Lucina!" She turned to her mother and sister. "I need to talk to her about something, okay?" Waving with very forced cheer, she headed away. "See you!"

When Morgan turned her back on Sumia and Cynthia, she clenched her teeth and forced her legs to move. If she looked back, she knew, she'd find looks of betrayal waiting for her.

Though Cynthia couldn't blame her sister. If she'd likewise had a good excuse, she would have left too. But, glancing up at her mother, Cynthia's heart cramped. She couldn't possibly abandon her now, not after they'd come so close to fixing everything…

"Hey, Mom," Cynthia said, tugging on Sumia's arm, "how about over there at that table? I think I see a free spot."

Sumia nodded slowly.

Seemed that most of the populace had abandoned the tables in favor of the hills just outside the city gates, which Cynthia counted herself lucky for. At the table where she seated herself across from her mother, they could comfortably talk. At last.

The first minutes were rigid. Not comfortable at all, actually. Again, Cynthia counted herself lucky, because the fireworks made for a good enough distraction to allow them to relax in silence over time.

The next few minutes, sure enough, were much better. They both sat comfortably, watching the sky. When a particular firework lit the sky an arcane blue, a little smile touched Sumia's lips at long last. Cynthia smiled herself when she noticed, and she decided to take the risk of ruining the moment by opening her mouth.

"I've missed you, Mom."

Sumia's eyes quickly flitted down to meet Cynthia's. Her smile faded.

"All this started because I told Dad that I was going to leave once the war was over," Cynthia resumed. "I thought… I mean, I'm Cynthia, but I'm _not_ Cynthia, y'know? I figured, once the other me was born, I'd duck out. Me'n Morgan would travel the world together, and become like… legendary heroes. Of legend. That the legends would speak of…" She swallowed. "…Yeah. But um, I talked to Aunt—" She bit her tongue. "Right after we… first argued, eight months ago… I ran into _Lady_ Emmeryn, and she convinced me not to leave. She told me, if I left, that'd be the end of it, you and me would just be on bad terms forever. But I could change your mind if I stayed."

Sumia frowned sadly.

"And, and then, when everyone was in Ylisstol's infirmary just after Chrom killed the fake Robin, I told Chrom about why we weren't speaking. When I said I regretted alienating you, Chrom asked me if I regretted _saying_ what I said, or if I regretted what I said altogether? That is, he wanted to know if I really meant it when I told Dad I'd leave forever. Chrom said I didn't have to answer that at the time, but I'd need to figure it out for Dad's sake and yours." Cynthia pursed her lips briefly, collecting her next words. She continued uncertainly: "To be honest, Mom, I'm still not sure. At the time, I definitely meant it. My last words to Dad _were_ honest. Your love isn't meant for me, it's meant for the other me. Of course Dad would say something like 'But there's enough love for both of you!' But I don't really think that's true, is it? Even if you did want me around, I still couldn't ever be your daughter. You weren't there for almost the first twenty years of my life. I'm just someone with the same name, and Dad's hair color… Oh, and your nose." She tapped her nose.

"My nose…?" Sumia thought, touching her nose as well. "Goodness, that _is_ my nose, isn't it…"

"Eheheh." Cynthia rubbed her head sheepishly. "Yeah, I got Dad's hair, but I got your nose, your eyes, and your _spunk!_ Or so people would tell me."

Sumia stared down at the table. A familiar empty feeling was rising to her chest as she remembered her three days of torment.

 _'My hair color to Morgan… and nothing to Cynthia.'_

 _That's not true, is it._

"Anyway… I guess what I'm getting at is, I don't _have_ to leave." Cynthia shook her head. "I just, I can't be your daughter, y'know? Because I'm not your daughter, not really."

Sumia frowned determinedly. "Oh, _I_ see what this is!"

Cynthia furrowed her eyebrows. "…Huh?"

Sumia waggled her finger, smirking. "You just want to call me by my first name, don't you?"

Cynthia was lost.

"Well, tough luck, young lady! You're going to have to call me 'Mom' forever."

"I, I don't think you're understanding what I'm—"

"Oh, I understand perfectly well!" said Sumia. "What _you_ don't understand is that, when I became a mommy, I became _contractually_ obligated to love my twin girls infinitely. And if I have to divide infinity between all four of my two daughters, then, well, that's still infinity, isn't it?"

Cynthia laughed. "C'mon, Mom, you can't _actually—"_

"Nope! Sorry." Sumia dusted her hands off, leaned back, and crossed her arms. "Can't argue with the contract, sweetie. I have to love you forever."

"Mom—"

"Plus," Sumia continued, "by not talking to you for so long, I breached the contract myself. And you know what that means." She waggled her finger again. "That means I have to compensate by loving you twice as much now! And two times infinity is _double_ infinity."

Cynthia hesitated. She saw what this was now. Sumia was phrasing it in a lighthearted way to raise the mood, but this was an _apology._

Cynthia cleared her throat. "…Well, little did you know I _also_ breached my contract." Mirroring Sumia, she waggled her finger and grinned. "By not talking to _you_ for so long, I'm required to always keep in touch with you. Even if I ever do leave for whatever reason, I'm contractually beholden to sending you a letter every two months."

"Every week," Sumia countered.

"Every month," Cynthia conceded. "Let's be real, my letters are gonna be _way_ more interesting if they cover thirty days instead of seven."

"Deal."

Sumia and Cynthia sealed their renewed contract with a handshake over the table.

"…And." Sumia took a breath, still trying to smile. Her hand still faintly clutched Cynthia's. "Remember, we'll need your father's signature to finalize this contract, y'know?"

Cynthia squeezed Sumia's hand. "You bet."

* * *

"This spot looks good." Morgan smoothed out her cloak and seated herself atop the hill; Lucina soon followed suit. "By the way—thanks for the help today, Luce."

The princess's brow crinkled. "But I didn't do anything. You spoke to Caeda yourself, and when I failed to sway Marth, you came to my rescue. You did all of the work, Morgan."

Morgan scratched her head. "Hmm… I guess I did, didn't I?" She raised her index finger, smiling. "But soft! Our efforts bore fruit!" She turned that finger forward to point elsewhere on the crowded hill. "Over yonder, I do spy the couple in question."

"Please don't speak that way," Lucina murmured tiredly, though she did follow Morgan's gaze. Indeed—there sat Marth and Caeda, both enraptured by the lightshow overhead. Though a feathery sensation sparked in her at the sight, she still couldn't help but feel… "I didn't contribute. Marth was convinced by your actions, not mine."

"If you _had_ contributed, how much better would you feel?" Morgan asked.

"Pardon?"

"To be honest, Lucina, you're the self-destructive type. Even if you'd done all the work, you'd still look for a reason to not pat yourself on the back over this. Here, watch this." Morgan grinned and literally patted herself on the back. "Good job, Morgan! Eheheh." She put her hand down, sitting back again. "Look at it this way, Lucy: this was just _my_ turn to be important! You get to be important all the time, so let me have this moment."

"Surely you don't think I am any more significant than you."

"Everyone does, Luce. It's kind of a part of you, just like denying your own merits is."

Lucina sighed. "I think you have more of your father in you than you think."

"You think so?" Morgan looked away from Lucina, toward the fireworks. A little grin on her face, she began to relax.

With another sigh, Lucina tried to sit back as well. _Marth and Morgan both,_ she thought. _They tell me I deny my own strengths, yet they do the same. Humility is no flaw. Perhaps they'd prefer I swell my head?_ She scoffed. _I've been nothing but realistic this whole time…_

"Say… Lucy?"

"Hm?" When Lucina turned to face the younger girl, she found that Morgan's smile had softened into something more… reluctant? More halfhearted. This was the smile of someone who didn't want to smile, further reinforced by Morgan's eyes still fixating on the sky instead of on the person she was speaking to.

"In the future we come from…" Morgan softly began. "Back then, was I important?"

Lucina's lips parted, then sealed, then opened again. "Wh, Where did that come from?"

Morgan didn't give a reply.

Lucina didn't need one. Watching Morgan's gentle expression, the peace in Morgan's eyes as she watched magic burst into the sky, Lucina found herself settling into a smile of her own. "…Yes, Morgan. You very much were."

"I'm glad."

Lucina briefly wondered if Morgan would push the subject. To Lucina's knowledge, Morgan had never asked for details on her past before, not even from her sister; surely she couldn't be satisfied with Lucina's nebulous answer?

As the moment drifted along, and it became clearer that Morgan would not pry further, Lucina found herself truly relaxing next to the tactician. She recalled that she'd wondered, once, if she would ever be able to do this again. She was glad to be able to answer that question affirmatively.

Someday, Lucina hoped she would be able to tell Morgan the full truth. Perhaps then the young tactician would understand why her amnesia was such a boon.

* * *

It had mostly been silence since the fireworks had started. Marth had anticipated his usual nerves and discomfort when he had first gone to speak to Caeda, but upon finding her as eager to meet as him, those trepidations faded during their earlier conversations. Now, they sat comfortably next to each other on the moon- and firework-lit hill just outside the city walls, each wearing a smile.

 _A hundred years,_ Marth mused, watching a solitary golden light rising from the city; well over the Crossroad's tallest buildings, the firework burst just like the rest, drawing entertained reactions from the endless crowd of viewers. Meanwhile, Marth only absently watched, his thoughts solely occupied by the pegasus rider sitting to his right. _I haven't spoken to her in a century, yet this feeling is exactly as I remember it._ He glanced at her, which also drew her eye to him; exchanging smiles, they turned back to the fireworks. _It's as if I have only been gone for a bit, and I am finally back where I belong._

Caeda lay back in the grass, resting her head on her hands as she stared into the sky. "…Marth."

Marth looked at her.

"Would you watch the stars with me?"

Slowly, Marth laid back as well, clasping his hands over his chestplate. He let out a breath and relaxed.

The uncountable legions of stars were sprawled across the dark sky. Surely, they were beautiful, but the light of the fireworks were distracting to Marth. "Are you not enjoying the fireworks? The stars are always there, but the fireworks won't be."

"I know," said Caeda, smiling slightly. "I suppose one could also argue that the fireworks are more beautiful, despite their brevity. Or, perhaps because of it?"

Marth started to reply, but, eyebrows furrowing, he closed his mouth. She had a point that he was missing, he was certain of it.

"Infinity." Caeda murmured the word, feeling it glide past her lips. "Forever…"

"…Ah." Marth started to understand her meaning. "Indeed. The stars will always be there, forever, even after all the fireworks in the world have been spent." He shook his head. "How tragic."

"Is it?" Caeda was still smiling, if sadly. "These are the same stars we once gazed at. Our descendants' descendants, even millennia removed, still enjoy the same constellations we did in our day. Isn't it a bit comforting that, in a world full of change, some things are ever static?" She turned her head to face him.

As Marth stared into her eyes, a smile quirked at the edge of his mouth; then, prince and princess both returned to stargazing. "…I think it's a bit ironic, Caeda. I fear death. In our day, I would lose sleep for days on end in fear of losing my life in the war. Knowing that it _had_ to be waged was all that would keep me moving forward, then. Yet, I also fear infinity. That thought, the thought of being here forever, even when all we know is gone, is… just as terrifying as being gone myself." He sighed deeply. "And, you know the saying… even stars burn out eventually."

"They certainly do." Caeda took a long breath—in, and out. "You know, Tiki yet lives in this era."

Marth glanced at her, surprised. "She—!" He hesitated. "…Yes, of course she does… She was young when we knew her, at already a thousand years old."

"Manaketes surely feel the same fear," Caeda murmured. "They are not too different from us. Tiki, at the least, understands for certain. After all…" She glanced at Marth again. "She lost _you."_

"She did…" Marth frowned, sorting through his tousled thoughts. "Not so different… We aren't, are we? From Tiki, from Lucina, from… people. Living people." He glanced at Caeda as well. "We _are_ human, aren't we?"

Caeda winced. "…Morgan asserted the same thing when I spoke to her earlier."

"Morgan…" Marth shook his head, a smile rising. "She is a specimen, isn't she? She could have left me to the whims of that crowd. I think… when she speaks, she means what she says. And she said she is my friend."

Caeda grimaced.

"I was on the precipice of making a terrible decision," Marth resumed. "Just days ago, I…" _plotted her death._ He hadn't yet revealed that much to Caeda, so he let himself trail off. "…I had the wrong impression of Morgan. She _is_ our friend. She is _my_ friend. She swayed me to come here, to this hill, with you."

Caeda looked away, back to the stars. "My first impression of her was not amicable, either. When she…" _pretended to try to murder me._ She hadn't yet revealed that much to Marth, however, so she let herself trail off. "…She seems to have our best interests at heart, even in her seemingly most misguided decisions. Perhaps she _does_ mean what she says. I think she deserves a chance at redemption."

"With that, Caeda, I wholeheartedly agree." Marth smiled at Caeda, and soon, she smiled back. "I believe we all deserve that chance."

"Marth…" Caeda rolled over to lay on her side, watching Marth intensely. "…I also fear death. Yes, and eternity as well. But…" She slid her hand across the grass, palm down, toward Marth, before stopping halfway. "…If nothing else, the stars always have each other."

Pondering her words, Marth rolled over to face her as well. His hand snaked forward, closing the distance and resting on top of Caeda's. "Yes… they do, don't they?"

Caeda smiled, and at last, a glistening tear born of happiness and fear traced down her cheek. It shone with the stars' reflection as it dripped onto the grass.

"Yes. They always will."

* * *

Morgan was hugging her knees to her chest, sitting alone at the top of a grassy hill, when Nah found her. "I hoped I'd find you here," the Manakete said, grinning, as she sat next to her friend. "Weren't you with Lucina, though?"

Morgan gestured away with her thumb. "Oh, Lucy left a few minutes ago to find Brady." She relaxed a bit, stretching her legs, and she then sat on her hands.

"Oh, okay." Nah crossed her legs. "What about Cynthia and your mother?"

"They're fine. I don't—I don't really wanna talk to them right now."

Surprised, Nah looked at Morgan, but Morgan's expression was neutral, still watching the fireworks. "…Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." Morgan sighed.

"Okay." Nah frowned, brushing her hair over her ear. "Did you have fun on our day off?"

"Yeah." Morgan smiled, finally, which relieved Nah, and led her to start watching the fireworks as well. "Lucina and I went on an adventure, actually! We, we went up to Marth and Caeda—separately I mean—and we were like, 'H-Hey! You two should be together!' And… and so, L-Lucina and Marth, they ended up…" Morgan cleared her throat. "They ended up in tr-trouble with a crowd, because, because they don't like Einherjar, so I…"

Nah glanced at Morgan, curious about her issues speaking. To her shock, tears were streaming from Morgan's eyes as she continued her attempt at telling the story with a smile. Feeling Nah's eyes on her, Morgan clumsily wiped her face on her sleeve, not stopping.

"So I… ah… I tell off the c-crowd, and I'm like, the _sickest_ badass while I do it, um—so, then, I convince Marth _and_ Caeda!" She pumped a fist, trying in vain to uphold a look of cheer. "I—I was—I did—a r-really good job today!" She met Nah's eyes at last.

Nah frowned sadly. There was a pleading look to Morgan's gaze.

"I, I did, right?" Morgan sniffed, wiping her eyes again; her façade was diminishing. "Haven't I—done a g-good job, Nah?!"

"You sure have."

Nah's words broke Morgan. Her head fell onto Nah's lap and she began to cry uninhibited.

"I'm, I'm so s-sorry," Morgan gasped. "This is… your s-special day an' all, special day with your p-parents, and I'm making it all about me…!"

"It's all right." Nah smiled, letting Morgan cry. "I'm sure I've annoyed you with all my whining these last few days, too."

Morgan laughed shakily. "Y-Yeah, I guess…"

"You still don't want to talk about it?"

"N-No…" Morgan clutched feebly at Nah's dress. "I just, I just r-really feel like crying…"

"That works too." Nah stroked Morgan's hair comfortingly. "Just so you know, if you ever _do_ want to talk about it, we'll still be best friends then."

Morgan felt emotion swell in her, and she couldn't manage a response, instead bursting into fresh tears. Nah looked up into the sky, at the last fireworks of the evening, and allowed Morgan to let it all go.

* * *

When the fireworks came to an end at last, drawing deafening applause from the countless sightseers, the events of that day's festivities finally came to a close. Locals and Shepherds alike made their ways to their respective dwellings, all with hope in their hearts for an even brighter tomorrow.

* * *

…

"…The headcount came back?" Chrom asked. He squinted through the morning sunlight, as if assuring himself that the Outrealm Gate hadn't disappeared from its position a few meters away, before turning back to his tactician.

At his left side, Morgan nodded. "All the Einherjar who stayed outside the city are still filtering in, and I'm having Lyn count 'em up, but the rest of the Shepherds are accounted for. Convoy checks out, too." She gave a thumbs-up. "Good to go, Captain!"

"Good." Chrom turned instead to the three Annas at his right. "So—guess that means we're back at it, then. Where to?"

Right Anna frowned, tapping her chin. "Bad news, Chrom. This Outrealm is uncharted territory. Aside from Robin and Algol, we don't know of anyone who's gone here and lived to talk about it."

Chrom blinked. _"Algol?"_

Left Anna grinned. "Yeah, the one and only. Y'see, we weren't sure how he got his hands on all the Einherjar's special weapons, like Siegmund and Falchion and stuff, but Marth's story made the pieces fall together." She waggled her finger. "Shepherds, you guys are headed to a little Outrealm we like to call _Infinite Regalia._ "

"We don't know what to expect from it," said Right Anna. "But if Algol could get through it with his Einherjar, and Robin could do it _alone,_ then I believe in the Shepherds." She and Left Anna turned to the third Anna. "Good luck, Shepherd! We wrote down directions for you, so you shouldn't have any trouble navigating!"

Anna saluted. "I won't let you down, sisters!"

Left and Right Anna exchanged a look. "Yeah, sounds good." They then both faced the Gate, grinning and waving. "Well, we've gotta part ways with you here! See y'all around!" They winked in unison. "And good luck!"

Both Annas stepped into the Outrealm Gate, vanishing from sight.

Chrom took a breath. "…Well, alright, then. Infinite Regalia. We can do this." Reaching down, he drew Falchion from its place on his hip. "Morgan, with me. We'll go through first."

Morgan nodded, seizing a tome from within her robes. "I've got your back."

Bracing himself, Chrom held Falchion level as he walked through the Gate, followed shortly by his trusted tactician.

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 16_ _– **Infinite Regalia**_

* * *

.

The darkness wasn't comforting. Moonlight streamed through their window; both Morgan and Sumia were fast asleep in their own beds, but rest evaded Cynthia.

 _I'm not dumb. I can see the pattern._ Cynthia snuggled under her blankets. _Something happens. Mom and I are awkward. One of us apologizes; we decide to make up, but ONLY since we can put off talking 'for real' until we find Dad. Then something else happens, and we're awkward again, and one of us apologizes… yadda yadda._ She took a breath. _Cycling between arguing and making up. One of these days, one of those is gonna stick. And I bet that if we find Robin, that'll be the day._ She pulled the blanket over her head. _We can't keep dodging this conversation forever…_

 _._

* * *

 _Author's notes:_

 _"If it takes him 8 months to update, that update BETTER be 21,000 words, grumble grumble."_

 _It's easy to blame school and vacation and stuff for the delay, but I wrote almost this entire chapter in the last month or so, which has undoubtedly been the busiest time of the last 8 months, so I can't blame external factors at all. Even on days I could easily have decided "nah I'm too busy today," I could always find time to write for an hour or so._

 _The actual problem was a combination of_

 _-not wanting to plan out this chapter (I knew a lot had to happen but none of it was the immediately-gratifying kind of stuff)_

 _-getting distracted by other stories (3 other stories stole my attention in the meantime, and of them I only ended up finishing The Little Things)_

 _Shouldn't face the same kind of problems moving forward, but then again, I bet I told myself the same thing 8 months ago, huh?_ _If you're having similar problems with delays in your own work, you might want to look inwardly. If you "can't find time," maybe it's just a motivation thing. And hey, if you ever want to talk about it writer to writer, PM me anytime, I don't care who you are._

 _See you when I finish Chapter 16 in a year! (kappa)_


	16. Infinite Regalia I

Chapter 16: **Infinite Regalia,** Part I

* * *

"Ghhn—! S-Son of a _bitch!"_

Normally, Chrom was far from the type to swear so viciously; in fact, he usually had a reprimand handy for Shepherds that would use such phrases in his presence. For instance, Sully used to get a lot of grief from Ylisse's now-Exalt before she mellowed into preferring "damn" over her usual, choicer words, and Chrom had asked Vaike to at least know what the words meant before he could use them, which had proven to be an effective deterrent. But this was an exception Chrom couldn't resist, as sharp explosions of pain seared throughout his left side, from thigh to shoulder—of course, centered at his days-old hip injury, through which blood began to seep—and a familiar urge to vomit began to rise.

 _Outrealm Sickness._

"Chr-Chrom!" Morgan's hands were on his right shoulder, trying to hold him steady. "Are you okay? Gods, why now?!"

Chrom was on all fours, gasping for air. His palms pressed into a cold tile floor while he dry-heaved uselessly.

The Outrealm Gate had deposited them inside a building, it seemed. A medium-sized square room, with openings to other rooms to the north, west, and east, and only the Gate to the south. What those other rooms contained, however, was obscured by shadow; only the Outrealm Gate itself provided a scant blue light to this room and nothing beyond.

What was unmistakable to Morgan—prickling her hair on the back of her neck—was the sound of shuffling metal resonating from the darkness.

"Shit, shit, shit," Morgan panted, since it wasn't like Chrom was in a state to reprimand her for saying that again, and he'd set a precedent for vulgarity already. "Chrom, stay with me. Gods, there's _no_ way Outrealm Sickness is back already!"

Chrom labored less and less for breath, and the pain in his side was beginning to abate into numbness (which he wasn't sure was better). "…I… can hear something…"

"Yeah, me too," Morgan said nervously, glancing over each shoulder. "It sounds like armor. The halls are echoing, so it's hard to tell how many there are."

Chrom pushed himself to a kneeling position, favoring his right side. Panting, he tilted his head, listening. "It sounds like it's coming from—"

Then, the sounds ceased. Chrom strained to listen more intently. A question on his tongue, he opened his mouth, but suddenly, he froze up altogether.

Morgan didn't have to ask why. From the shadows—from all three directions—pairs of red lights were shining in the darkness. Dozens of pairs, perhaps.

 _Eyes._ Inhuman eyes, glowing with solid crimson malice.

"We have to get out of here," Morgan breathed.

Chrom didn't dare move. His eyes darted between the many shadow-obscured enemies. "Back through the Outrealm Gate."

"I think the Bath Elixir wore off, Captain." Morgan tried to count their numbers, tried to fix them in her memory, but the eyes were not sitting still, they seemed impatient, they were not all the same height, her heart was pounding—she couldn't concentrate. Who knew if they were all two-eyed creatures anyway.

"I don't think they'll be sympathetic to that." A glint of the Gate's light reflected off of the breastplate of an enemy. Armor, for sure, if only a hint of it.

"This is gonna hurt real bad, Chrom." Slowly, carefully, her eyes not leaving the many red ones shrouded in blackness, Morgan looped both of her arms through Chrom's right one. "On three?"

"Just tell me when."

"Okay." She tightened her grip. "One."

Morgan was panting for breath.

"T-Two."

Sweat dripped from her chin onto Chrom's bare shoulder, running down his Brand. Chrom clenched his teeth.

"…Three!"

Morgan yanked Chrom to his feet, fear driving her, and she all but dragged Chrom away from the darkness. The rustling of armor returned, louder than ever, as the red-eyed monsters all advanced at once.

Morgan couldn't spare a look back. Holding onto Chrom as tightly as her terror-enhanced grip would allow, she leapt into the Outrealm Gate head-first.

As the Gate's arcane lights encircled her, Morgan squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. Her grip on Chrom's arm did not relent during their brief transit. After that moment, the otherworldly lights coalesced into a range of colors—particularly green, the color of grass rushing up to meet them. Chrom tumbled from Morgan's grasp as she fell onto the Springrealm's green earth, catching herself on all fours and releasing her held breath.

She blinked her eyes clear, staggering to her feet. "G-Guard the gate!" she ordered weakly as she regained her footing. As she heard more footsteps approaching, shouts of alarm too, she fumbled around for Chrom; her hand soon found a hold on his arm once again, and she made to drag him away from the potential threats within the Outrealm Gate. "Chrom, are you feeling—"

Morgan froze, horror painting her expression. Chrom was also on all fours, like Morgan had just been; however, he was unresponsive to her call of his name. He was retching, violently. Uncontrolled vomit came again and again as he loudly—

Morgan recoiled, her hand leaving his arm to cover her own mouth instead.

Chrom paused, gasping in vain for air, but still his stomach refused to settle. His breath stopped once again—his throat clogging with more of it. Pitching forward once again, he vomited once more onto the grass.

Blood, just blood. He'd exhausted anything else to expel. Not limited to the vomit, either. Morgan fell to her knees, transfixed in abject shock as she watched blood flood over his chin, race from his nose, trail from his eyes and ears and—

"B-Bath Elixir!" Morgan forced herself back to her feet. "It's Outrealm Sickness! We need more Bath Elixir, _now!"_ She turned to the people surrounding her, and pointed at the nearest two Shepherds, Donnel and Ricken. "You, you! Set up a tent and the bath! I want it ready in thirty seconds!" She turned to the next two, Laurent and Emmeryn. "You two, take Chrom there, now!" She turned to the rest of the Shepherds, all frozen in shock. "The rest of you: I don't know if they'll follow us through the Gate, but get ready for a fight anyway!"

With a leader at the helm and orders to follow, the Shepherds quickly went into action. Donnel and Ricken were already gone, and Laurent and Emmeryn looped Chrom's arms over their shoulders and immediately set off after the first two.

Morgan turned on the Outrealm Gate, trembling at the sight. She backed away from it, willing her nerves to settle.

* * *

Per Morgan's orders, Donnel and Ricken hadn't wasted any time. They were holding the completed tent's flaps open for Laurent and Emmeryn while they lugged Chrom through. The Exalt had fallen unconscious on the walk over, leaving him as a heavy weight for the two Sages to drag; as they eased him into the tent, Donnel and Ricken followed them in, undoing bits of his armor as well as relieving him of Falchion, lightening the load.

With a heave, Emmeryn and Laurent lifted Chrom up and into the full bathtub, fully clothed, before depositing him within; some displaced water overflowed. Both Sages released gasps of exertion and slumped at the side of the bath while Donnel and Ricken moved to situate the Exalt comfortably within the healing waters.

"We should do somethin' 'bout his clothes," Donnel said. "Should we get 'im out of those?"

"Maybe _you_ can, but I think I'd rather leave that to his wife," Ricken answered. "For now, let's go back to the Outrealm Gate, just in case." He looked back at Laurent and Emmeryn. "Can you guys watch Chrom until the coast is clear?"

Laurent nodded, while Emmeryn gave a winded thumbs-up; assured, Ricken and Donnel dashed from the tent. The two Sages just sat quietly for a while afterwards to catch their breath.

"Per… perhaps Morgan was right," Laurent said. "Maybe I _am_ a bit out of shape…"

Emmeryn laughed, in concordance. "I've never been the athletic type, myself…"

Both of them chuckled weakly for a moment.

"Maybe we shouldn't be making jokes," Emmeryn said. "I mean…" Indicating Chrom, she didn't need to finish that sentence.

"Indeed." Laurent glanced aside at Emmeryn. "…Milady, it seems you're covered in blood."

Emmeryn looked down at herself. Sure enough, much of the right side of her cloak was drenched red, but when she examined Laurent, she saw that his left side was similarly bloodstained. "You too."

Laurent frowned, and both he and Emmeryn looked back at Chrom. Submerged to the neck in water, his expression was slightly pained. Emmeryn recalled the cries that Bath Elixir had elicited from him and from the Manaketes last time; the greater the affliction, the greater the pain, and having just gone through the Gate twice with no chance to recover in between, his dance with Outrealm Sickness today even outstripped the worst of Tiki's. She supposed it was a boon for him to be unconscious at the moment.

Though blood no longer seemed to be flowing from his every orifice, streaks of what Chrom had lost already were drying on his face. Emmeryn stood and leaned over him; sensing her intention, Laurent produced a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to the former Exalt.

Emmeryn dipped the handkerchief into the Bath Elixir and began dabbing at Chrom's face, attempting to remove the blood. He would require a normal bath later to be fully cleaned, but she would do what she could at the moment.

"So it appears the Bath Elixir has its limits," Laurent noted. "For him to feel the effects of Outrealm Sickness again, and so soon? Perplexing."

"Mm." Emmeryn was lost in thought while she absently wiped Chrom's face clean.

Despite the circumstances, this moment was something of an opportunity, wasn't it? Cynthia had said yesterday that Laurent would have better answers to Emmeryn's questions about the future. Why not now? "Laurent?"

"Yes?" Laurent stood up next to her, watching her task.

"You know who I am, right?"

Laurent frowned. "Of course. You are Lady Emmeryn. Er, is 'Lady' appropriate, or would you rather I use your former title?"

"I'd prefer 'Emmeryn'… but if you _must_ use an honorific, then 'Lady,' please." Emmeryn glanced at him. "I'm curious, Laurent. I don't know much about… well, about the future. When I first joined, Lucina gave me a… a brief overview, and Cynthia and Brady gave me more details yesterday, but—there were some questions I asked that they said you should answer."

Laurent adjusted his glasses. "Hm. I suppose that is fair. Dismal though our future was, I tried to chronicle it as best I could. Should humanity survive, I reasoned, it ought to possess a manuscript of the world's darkest hour."

"And here we are," Emmeryn chuckled. "Good work, Laurent."

Laurent smiled.

"Then, since we have a minute…" Emmeryn turned back to Chrom, tilting his head so as to clean a different cheek. "Cynthia used a term I'd never heard before. 'Earth of Grima,' I think?"

"Grima's Earth, yes." Laurent nodded. "It was the final era of mankind."

"So it's a time period?"

"Indeed, from more than ten years hence." Laurent pondered for a moment. "Though… I suppose it was likely closer to twenty years?"

"You are uncertain?"

"Yes, actually. This time's history does not neatly match with ours, so it is difficult to tell where the divides in timeframes lie."

"What do you mean?"

Laurent fell quiet, adjusting his glasses again. "…I suppose, to answer that, it would be best to start from the top. In my studies, the earliest divergence from our own timeline begins with the Ylisse-Plegia War of over two and a half years ago."

"I see."

"Understand that, despite her cynicism at the time, Lucina's return to the past had made a difference from the beginning," Laurent explained. "In our world, you were assassinated in the castle of Ylisstol, and from there, the already-thin tensions between Ylisse and Plegia snapped. The nations warred for nearly four years before Ylisse finally claimed victory over the Mad King."

"Nearly four years?!" Emmeryn was aghast. "I-It would still be waging now!"

"Indeed. By Lucina's interference, your death was postponed—entirely prevented, as we later learned, but that is irrelevant. Rather than by an ignominious assassination, you instead gave your life willingly in order to prevent the loss of Ylissean and Plegian life both. By choosing this death instead, you earned the favor of the Plegian people and shaved years off of the war." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "On January the Eighth of that year, your assassination was prevented. On the Tenth, Lady Cordelia's squad was massacred and you were kidnapped. On the Thirteenth, the Shepherds finally took the fight to Plegia, encountering their first Grimleal opponents. On the Fourteenth, the plan to rescue you failed, and you seemingly sacrificed yourself; and finally, on the Fifteenth of January, Prince Chrom battled Gangrel directly and won the war with Plegia. The entire four-year war was contained within little more than a week."

"That's…" Emmeryn shook her head. "That's incredible, truly."

"Four years is a very long time," Laurent continued. "In this time, families were made and lives were lost. Not all Shepherds made it out alive, and that is a trend that would continue into the Valmese War. That war would be a bit more familiar to the present; the full war lasted almost two months in this time, and only a bit longer in our future. According to history books, it began with Valm's attack on Ferox Harbor and ended with Emperor Walhart's total defeat at Valm Castle. As you also know, Khan Basilio did indeed die in this conflict, as did many of the Shepherds. Those that remained returned home, hoping for peace but not being offered a moment's respite. And, here is where the timeframe becomes vague."

Emmeryn suddenly realized she'd forgotten her task, and immediately resumed cleaning her brother's face. "Do go on."

"In the interest of clarity, I will lay out our timelines chronologically." Laurent had produced a notepad, and when Emmeryn glanced at him (surprised), she saw he had divided the page into two columns. He began with the left column: "Your time is divided into three notable eras: the Ylisse-Plegia War, the Valmese War, and the Conflict with Grima. Historians I've spoken to in Ylisstol are more taken with the names 'War with Plegia,' 'Conquest of Valm,' and 'Fate of the World,' respectively, though I disagree with the vagueness of those terms… But let's leave tangents aside."

He shifted to the column on the right. "The eras of our future past are slightly different: like yours, our world experienced the Ylisse-Plegia War and the Valmese War, but unlike in the present, the Conflict with Grima did not consist of small skirmishes across the globe. In your time, the conflict was relatively small-scale (if high stakes), as it never escalated to fully encompass multiple countries, and, more pedantically, there was no formal declaration of war. Whereas, in our time, the 'Conflict with Grima' was instead superseded by what came to be known as the Grimleal War."

A chill passed through Emmeryn.

"The Grimleal War was a bloody conflict that consumed most of the known world over the better part of a decade. Like the Conflict with Grima, the war is said to have begun with Validar's theft of the Fire Emblem following the Shepherds' victorious return from Valm. The weakened countries of Ylisse and Regna Ferox, as well as the now-Chon'sin-led Valm, united to face the threat head-on; the influence of the Grimleal was vast, and the coalition faced opposition at every corner of the globe." Laurent paused for a moment to take a breath; though he did seem pleased to be able to share his knowledge with a curious listener, this was a heavy topic to dwell upon. "…The Grimleal War never definitively ended, but it certainly did end. Retrospectively, most surviving humans considered the war's end to have been at the Battle of the Dragon's Table, at which Exalt Chrom and his closest friend, Robin, led an assault to kill Validar and end the looming threat of Grima once and for all. And—as you and I and all of the Shepherds are painfully aware—they failed. We now know why, all these years later."

Emmeryn had to pause, to close her eyes for a moment. She had asked for the truth, she knew. It was just surprisingly hard to swallow.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, please don't."

"Very well." Laurent adjusted his glasses. "Neither Chrom nor Robin returned from the Dragon's Table on that fateful day; it was nothing short of a miracle that Falchion even returned to Ylisse's hands. Princess Lucina, now _Exalt_ Lucina, was merely a teenager the day the Fell Dragon first rose from the Dragon's Table. After Grima's awakening, the Grimleal War, if it could still be called that, took a sharp turn for the worse. This era—the post-war, apocalyptic era—is what we retroactively named Grima's Earth, in which the Fell Dragon had virtually-uncontested ownership over the world. Since our voyage through time, however, we have shifted to referring to this era as the Future Past."

Laurent removed his glasses to briefly wipe them down on a clean part of his robes. He frowned at the bloodstains he had to avoid. "Now… every era up until now has regarded a war. Plegia, Valm, Grimleal. This, Grima's Earth, was not a war, not so much as it was a gradual genocide of the human race." He replaced his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "It was in this apocalypse that the New Shepherds arose by necessity: the children of the Shepherds of old, including, naturally, myself. We attempted to… be a beacon, as Lucina once put it, for the world to rally behind in such hopeless times."

"You couldn't even see the sun," Emmeryn murmured. "I can't begin to imagine…"

"Indeed," Laurent said. "And we were not without success, mind you, despite achieving no lasting victories. Thanks to Lucina's leadership and Morgan's tactical wit, we were able to recover the Fire Emblem itself from Grima's minions at one point. And though Ylisstol was a shell of its former self, we never truly lost the castle to the enemy, not even at our lowest."

"That's… good to hear."

Laurent thought for a moment. "…Grima's Earth began after the Battle of the Dragon's Table, and from a certain point of view, you could say that it 'ended' when we, the New Shepherds, traveled to the present to change our bleak future altogether. And we succeeded. Despite our dark past, we did indeed earn our happy ending after all. So, try not to dwell on it overmuch, unless you wish to learn more. As it is, however, that should answer your question satisfactorily."

Emmeryn smiled. Remembering what Cynthia had said, Emmeryn added, "…You should write a book."

"I am," Laurent stated matter-of-factly, taking Emmeryn aback. "Before the false Robin was found, I was speaking to publishers in Ylisstol." He seemed a bit sour. "I had to put all of my plans on hold for him. Knowing my luck, my negotiations with them will have dried up by the time we return…"

Emmeryn couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Morgan stretched her arms high over her head, releasing a groan as she flexed stiff muscles. "Mmmalright." She sheathed her sword and took a calming breath. "They didn't follow us through. That's lucky." She turned to the rest of the surrounding Shepherds, all relaxing at the sight of Morgan's smile. "We'll keep an eye on the Gate, but it looks like they, whoever _they_ are, would rather wait on us to come back. Now, until the Captain's out of the Bath Elixir, we don't have much choice but to hang around. Shouldn't take longer than a couple hours."

She glanced back at the swirling Outrealm abyss, its unearthly blue starkly contrasting the greenery of the hill it rested on. Mostly to herself, she mumbled, "Geez… The Annas weren't kidding about Infinite Regalia. I could feel strength practically _radiating_ from whatever those monsters were." A shudder ran down her spine, and she turned away.

After brief delegations regarding vigil over the Outrealm Gate, Morgan, like the rest of the idle Shepherds, headed away. While most others were likely finding a way to burn some time (that didn't involve heading into the city; Morgan's orders precluded walking so far), Morgan headed for Chrom's tent. Ricken and Donnel had apparently had the foresight to set it up a good distance away from the Outrealm Gate, rightly so in the case of a battle erupting there, so she had a bit of a walk ahead of her.

"Morgan." Someone hurried to catch up to her, then matched her pace. Lyn and Morgan exchanged a brief smile and walked together. "I found something important."

"What is it?" Morgan noticed the papers in Lyn's hands. "Oh, right, I asked you to get an Einherjar headcount this morning. Is everyone accounted for? I'm guessing not, since you're bringing it up."

"No, everyone _is_ accounted for," Lyn said, but her expression was still serious. "That isn't the problem. The problem is that I counted one hundred and _two_ Einherjar among us, including myself."

"A hundred and two?" Morgan shrugged. "Well, I gave you Old Hubba's manifest as reference, so it didn't have Beatrice's Einherjar."

"No, I accounted for that. Old Hubba's manifest lists ninety-six Einherjar, clearly missing Seliph, Lena, Micaiah, and Leif."

"So there are two extra Einherjar?" Morgan scratched her chin. "That's weird."

"Three Einherjar," Lyn corrected. "Remember, Leila was killed. Old Hubba destroyed her card the other day. I expected to count ninety-nine Einherjar this morning."

Morgan felt a punch from Lyn's words. "Gods, you're right," she murmured. "I forgot about Leila. Shit…"

Lyn winced. "…Please refrain from such vulgarity, Morgan. It's unbecoming."

"You too? Geez, fine."

Lyn returned to the subject. "There were seven Einherjar not included in Old Hubba's records: Seliph, Lena, Micaiah, Leif, and, as I figured out, these three…" From the items in her hands, Lyn produced a trio of Einherjar cards. "Katarina, Clarisse, and Legion."

"The assassins?"

"According to Marth, there were exactly one hundred Einherjar in his family a century ago," Lyn continued. "These three assassins were not part of that family at all. They were in their cards for all that time until their theft by Shanna."

Morgan frowned deeply. "Marth said there were only one hundred Einherjar… Does this mean there could be more?" She turned to Lyn. "How many of the Einherjar are awake at the moment?"

"At the moment, twenty. The other eighty-two are in their cards, either slain during the battle in Gallia or returned to their cards by Old Hubba before then."

"Until we know more, we aren't waking up the rest of them," Morgan said. "There could be accountability issues we can't foresee if there are more Einherjar than we thought. I'm going to talk about this with Chrom later." Then, she waved dismissively. "…But until I do, that won't be high on my list of priorities. We've got too much else to worry about."

"I can agree with that."

Not long after their conversation wound to a close, they arrived at the only tent adorning the hill. Laurent was exiting the tent as Morgan and Lyn arrived, and he seemed to perk with interest at the sight of the tactician.

"I was hoping I would happen across you, Morgan." Laurent stood straight, staring dutifully at Morgan while she approached. As she peered into the tent to assess Chrom's condition, Laurent began to speak. "I suggest we send a better-prepared scouting party, ideally two units, into Infinite Regalia. Such a formation will allow flexibility (that a larger party wouldn't allow) and security (while a solitary scout would be much riskier). I suggest the units be…"

Morgan was barely listening past that point. Peeking through the tent's entrance, she watched as Emmeryn tended to the unconscious Chrom, and she released a short, relieved exhale. With Chrom's face cleaned of the blood he'd been covered in, he seemed peaceful. Morgan filed a mental note to remind Emmeryn to feed Chrom once he was conscious, to get that blood back—but she realized that a healer, of all people, wouldn't need the reminder. Morgan would just look condescending.

"Sounds good," said Morgan as she let the tent flap fall closed and she faced Laurent. From Laurent's reaction, it seemed she had interrupted him mid-sentence, but it probably wasn't anything important anyway. Not something she couldn't just ask about later, for sure. "I'm going to take Lyn into Infinite Regalia with me. We'll scout it out together."

Lyn nodded determinedly, while Laurent sighed. "I was recommending a thief, or someone otherwise light-footed," Laurent said, adjusting his glasses. "But I suppose you will do."

"Hey, if you want someone fleet of foot, Lyn's your gal," Morgan said. "And I've gotta see them with my own eyes. Oh, that reminds me: we'll need to bring our own light." She gestured. "Walk with me."

Lyn, Laurent, and Morgan started walking back to the Outrealm Gate.

After a moment of quiet walking, Laurent began to speak. "…While you are in the Outrealm, try to examine your opponents diligently. If combat ensues, however, retreat to safety as quickly as you can. That means—"

Morgan suddenly turned to Lyn. "Remember, when you're in a fight, swing your sword," she explained patiently, receiving a bemused look from the Elibean. "And if you're trying to kill them, aim for the parts that they need in order to not be dead. That's how you fight. You're welcome."

The three were all quiet.

Laurent scowled, adjusting his glasses. He got the point Morgan was making, but he wasn't _trying_ to be patronizing. Morgan seemed so simple-minded at a glance, and had occasional impulsive moments that made it easy for him to forget that she was as capable as any Shepherd, if not more so. For that matter, she sure was snarky for such a capable Shepherd.

Laurent shook his head. "…How did you come to be so obnoxious?" he muttered aloud. "It is as infuriating as ever."

Morgan clicked her tongue chidingly. "Come now, Laurent! Surely, back in the future I was the same _lovely_ charmer I am now."

"Yes, indeed," Laurent sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Amnesia hasn't changed you in the slightest."

Morgan grinned. "That's pretty good to hear, I guess!"

She, Lyn, and Laurent continued to walk.

"…I've never asked," Morgan suddenly mused, tapping her chin. "I still don't know my past, but you guys do. I wonder how many stories all you future-people must have about me?"

"You are included in that group of 'future-people,' you know…"

But Morgan was ignoring him. "Yeah, now this curiosity is really eating at me. Maybe next time I see Nah I'll ask her all about it."

They walked in silence a moment longer, confusion mounting on Laurent's expression.

"Why not me?" he asked. "I am right here, and we have a free moment. You may probe me with questions as you will."

Morgan waved dismissively. "No thanks, you'd probably phrase it all boring."

Laurent paused, his lips slightly parted in surprise. He took a moment to gather his words. "I… see."

His face molded in a perpetual frown, Laurent resolved not to speak another word for the rest of the walk. He could only take so much.

"…You know what." Morgan glanced at Laurent, grinning. "I think I actually _would_ kinda like to hear your input. If you don't mind?"

Laurent was taken aback. He'd never known Morgan to backpedal, not when it came to making fun of him. And her smile certainly seemed genuine. "I, ah…" He straightened his glasses. "If you insist?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Hm…" Laurent held his chin pensively. "Well, as you may expect, you were one of the founding members of the New Shepherds. The name was even your idea."

"'New Shepherds,'" Morgan echoed dryly. "Really creative, future-past-me."

"You don't give yourself enough credit. The name instilled hope. The Shepherds, remember, were Ylisse's defenders, and later the world's. To distance yourself from the Shepherds of old by not simply recycling the name removes the stain of their ultimate defeat; thus, 'New.' Contrarily, invoking the name of the old Shepherds evokes the security they once provided. Thus, 'New Shepherds.' Quite clever indeed."

Remembering her conversation at yesterday's dinner, Morgan just nodded, accepting the praise. Wasn't like it was really _her_ that Laurent was praising, anyway. "So, I was a New Shepherd, like you all?"

"Yes. As you may expect, you were our tactician. Truth be told, competent though you were and still are, I had my reservations with Chrom choosing you as Robin's successor the other day."

"Because I tease you."

"N—well, yes, that's very aggravating. But it isn't just that." Laurent looked away. "The last time I had followed your orders in battle was… a day I prefer not to remember. Your leadership reminds me too strongly of dark times."

"Even _you_ prefer not remember the future?" Morgan asked. "I thought you were Mr. History." She snapped her fingers, grinning. "Mistory!"

"Clever. But you are not wrong; I rather pride myself in my objectivity when it comes to reminiscing on Grima's Earth. Still, even then there are moments I would rather not dwell upon." He composed himself with a quick breath and an adjustment of his glasses. "Yet, I have taken it as my duty to remember, so it does no good to shut off such memories. You see, I was under your command during your final battle…"

"Cool as that sounds, let's put a pin in that." Morgan gestured ahead at the Outrealm Gate they were nearing. "We've got work to do. Lyn, you're with me. Laurent…" She winked at the mage. "We'll talk more later, 'kay?"

"I…" Laurent nodded. "As you wish."

As the Sage left, Morgan stopped and faced Lyn. "I'm bringing a Fire tome or two. I need to be able to see exactly what we're up against. You'll protect me, won't you?"

Lyn offered her hand. "I'm with you all the way."

Confidently clasping her hand around Lyn's, Morgan grinned.

* * *

The blue lights of the Gate quickly molded into darkness. Morgan and Lyn both alighted gently on stone tiles, settling into a crouch and patiently waiting; unlike last time, the clinking of distant armor did not immediately become apparent, meaning their stealth was to good effect so far.

Lyn examined the three directions to go: left, right, and straight were all obscured, leaving no clear direction to start from. She glanced at Morgan for directions.

Morgan pondered her next move. From what she could tell so far, each of Infinite Regalia's rooms were square-shaped, seemingly laid out in a grid; since this room did not have an opening on the south side, that potentially made this the southernmost room? If that were the case, then going north would be heading into the core of the building. No, for a scouting mission, it would be best to stick to the fringes.

So Morgan met Lyn's eye and gestured at the western opening. They swiftly went for it.

Morgan squinted through the dark doorway, willing her eyes to adjust. The scant light offered by the first room's Outrealm Gate was not especially helpful. She reached for the Fire tome on her person, biting her lip and debating the option. The enemies would certainly be able to see the light from even several rooms away; creating light would mean throwing away stealth.

But what was the alternative? Fumbling around in the dark?

Morgan seized the tome and raised her other hand palm-upwards. Holding her breath, Morgan willed as little power from the tome as she could draw; rewarding her efforts, a small, swirling fireball flickered to life in her palm.

Morgan let the held breath go, forcing herself to calm down. Glancing at Lyn—the swordmaster had a hand on one of her blade's hilts at all times—Morgan gave a reassuring thumbs-up and entered the west room.

Morgan raised the light high. This room was empty, and now, with the light offering plenty of detail, she could see all the intricacies of this… plain, featureless room with nothing noteworthy in it. The tiles were kinda nice-looking, she guessed.

This room had an eastern opening—the one they had just come through—and a northern one, further cementing Morgan's impression that they were in the southernmost section of the building, evidently the southwest-most corner. Morgan indicated the north opening, and she and Lyn cautiously slunk there.

Morgan slipped to the left side of the opening, while Lyn stuck to the right. They both peered into the dark room with little success. Morgan raised her firelight, spreading faint light into the room, but not to good effect.

Morgan nodded at Lyn, and Lyn nodded back. Gritting her teeth, Morgan squeezed her fire tome, leveled her firelight at the dark room, and she _pushed._

The harmless, but bright, fireball launched from Morgan's palm, spreading light into the adjacent room as it came to a halt several feet away—revealing the room's lone occupant.

Morgan and Lyn both bit back their next breaths, staring at the figure in the center of the room. It was a woman—Chon'sinese, perhaps? Certainly a swordmaster, given her dress and the sword sheathed at her hip. Her skin was pale, unhealthily so, but she stood straight, arms crossed over her chest. An unworried expression adorned her face, as her eyes were closed and her chin was turned down. Seemingly comatose.

Morgan and Lyn didn't dare move. The magical fireball Morgan had conjured still sputtered in the air about a pace away from the unresponsive woman, lighting most of the room nicely—which really just confirmed that the only thing worth staring at right now was the woman.

Morgan didn't really know how to react. It seemed she had an opportunity to escape at the moment, but then what would she have gained from this mission? _'There's a comatose swordmaster two rooms from the entrance?'_ Though provoking combat seemed even more unwise. _We should just retreat a bit; we'll explore the room to the east of the Outrealm Gate._ She and Lyn exchanged a look, nodded, and turned back.

"YOU ARE LEAVING. AND GONE SO SOON."

Morgan felt her hair stand up on the back of her neck. She and Lyn both turned back to the dimly-lit room, back to the woman. Her pose hadn't changed: standing still with her arms crossed. But her chin had lifted, and now, her eyes were open, fixated on the two intruders. Burning red.

"Sh-She can talk?" Lyn whispered.

"INTRUDERS COME. THEY NEVER LEAVE." The woman finally shifted; her hands both moved to the sheathed weapon on her hip.

"She talks funny," Morgan murmured, furrowing her brow. Louder: "Who are you?"

"GUARDIANS, NOW. AND NOTHING MORE." The blade glistened as it left the woman's sheath—and swiped through the hanging fireball, extinguishing the flame and leaving them in darkness.

Morgan's breath stopped as sight was stripped away from her; the sound of the woman's rapidly approaching footsteps instilled panic in her, and she fell backwards, scrambling away.

The clash of metal on metal sent sparks through the air, briefly illuminating two blades far too close to Morgan. Lyn stood between the swordmaster and Morgan, their blades locked; Morgan continued to scramble away, increasingly more panicked.

Lyn gritted her teeth. Her feet had moved on their own, putting her and her sword protectively in front of Morgan. Now, unable to even see the opponent she was wrestling against but for her malefic red eyes, Lyn's mind was working quickly, trying to find a plan here. Whoever this woman was, she was strong, impossibly so; even empowered by the Sol Katti, Lyn had trouble matching the strength of her opponent. But she couldn't tactically retreat, as her instincts were crying for her to do; if she let the woman, the 'guardian,' win this exchange, then the guardian would again have the cover of darkness on her side.

Morgan knew she had to think quickly, but that shave with death was impossibly close. Without Lyn there—that would've been it. She would be dead right now. Her breath came and went shallowly. She felt light-headed… light—

Light!

Morgan fumbled through her robes for the Fire tome, quickly finding purchase on it (hopefully; she couldn't exactly tell it apart from any other tome). Scrunching up her face with focus, she raised her palm high.

A burst of fire spat forth from her palm, brightly illuminating the room before impacting against the ceiling and dissipating.

In that brief moment of clarity, with full view of her opponent, a number of questions ran through Lyn's mind:

 _The guardian's stance is unfamiliar. But does it favor aggression or defense?_

 _Could the other enemies Morgan mentioned have seen that light? I would be surprised if they hadn't._

 _Is… Is this woman's weapon the same as mine?_

The guardian backed away at the same time that Lyn did. Drawing the Mani Katti from her other hip, Lyn positioned herself in front of Morgan, a sword in each hand. "Do you have anything more permanent?"

"Y-Yeah, yeah, just gimme a second." Morgan was concentrating once again, this time trying to ease back the magical output of the tome again. Soon, a blaze erupted into being from her palm, and lingered there; forming a fireball roughly the size of her head, Morgan released it in the air, letting it float and passively illuminate the room.

The guardian still remained near her own room's opening, watching Lyn and Morgan impassively.

Lyn's eyes narrowed. "That sword…"

Morgan looked from the guardian, to Lyn, and back to the guardian. "Wait… That's the Sol Katti, isn't it?"

"It looks that way."

"Then… that means…" Morgan's heart sank. "Oh, gods, I know who she is." To the guardian, she called, "You're Simia, aren't you?"

"INDEED I AM."

"Deadlords," Morgan breathed. "Deadlords. Gods, they're the Deadlords."

Lyn didn't really care to ask for clarification at the moment. Morgan's tone conveyed all the information Lyn needed perfectly fine: _big angry threat_. She strengthened her grip on her dual swords.

Simia lunged forward, her Sol Katti bound for Lyn. Lyn swiped both of her swords at Simia's, deflecting the attack.

Lyn gasped at the exertion. She was right to put as much strength behind the deflection as she did; throwing her weight into the swipe was barely enough to parry. She couldn't keep up a pace like that if she stayed defensive.

So, Lyn twirled her weapons and dashed for Simia. The Deadlord backed away a step, shifting to defense. Lyn directed her twin swords for a killing blow.

Without adjusting her footing, Simia leaned away from the attack, successfully dodging the Mani Katti's stab. She methodically guided Lyn's Sol Katti along her own, redirecting the strike outwards.

From Morgan's dire proclamation of what Simia was, as well as the strength Lyn had experienced from the thing so far, she had expected Simia's dexterous defense, and as such had not committed too heavily to the attack. She twirled on her heel away from the Deadlord, keeping her space.

Simia took the offensive once again, applying three slashes of her sword to test Lyn's guard. Lyn did not bow under the pressure, carefully watching Simia's posture to judge her next move while blocking each stab. It was clear that Simia's attacks were not yet meant to kill; she was just feeling Lyn out.

 _I'm doing the same thing, after all,_ Lyn thought, and she made to attack once again.

Simia's eyes shifted, and her stance changed. While the posture seemed to leave Simia vulnerable, Lyn, still not knowing what to expect from her opponent, halted her aggression in the case of this being a ruse not possible from a human.

The reason soon revealed itself. A loud burst of sound and light erupted from behind Lyn, and a gust of sizzling electricity flared past, impacting with Simia. The Deadlord swept her blade along the beam of lightning, and it deflected into the wall with a cacophonic explosion, before she returned to facing Lyn in a properly defensive stance.

Morgan shook the lingering sparks from her fingertips, continuing to glare at Simia. Her Thoron tome glowed in her hands. "Didn't forget me, did you?"

Lyn grinned.

Simia quickly launched a new offensive against Lyn. Lyn exercised her twin swords to deftly repel each of Simia's assaults, confidence powering her defense.

Morgan raised her palm, another Thoron ready. Simia's eyes shifted once again to the magical threat. This time, Lyn pressed her advantage, diving in with both swords to capitalize on Simia's distractedness.

In a flurry of movement, Lyn felt a cold wind pass by, and Simia was gone.

Lyn blinked. _No!_ She barely had time to turn around, already knowing she would find Simia behind her, heading for Morgan.

The sword was already falling. Simia was impossibly fast. Morgan couldn't react.

All the more surprising, then, when a beam of Thoron struck Simia directly in the chest, throwing her across the room to slam into the wall.

Morgan smirked, more electricity balling up in her palm. "That almost worked last time," she said. "The whole 'Pass' bait. But I'm onto your tricks, Simia. This isn't my first rodeo with the Deadlords."

Lyn sighed with relief, then turned back to the Deadlord. Simia's face was as impassive as ever as she picked herself up. Her robes were singed from the direct hit. Were it not for the magical resistance offered by the Sol Katti, she surely would have been run through by the powerful magic.

In fact—Lyn's heart fell—aside from the damages to Simia's wardrobe, it hadn't had much of an effect at all. The Sol Katti was powerful indeed, coupled with the durability of a Deadlord…

"Morgan, keep doing what you're doing," Lyn said. "Magic is helping, but finishing her will come down to me!"

"I agree!" The tactician readied her next attack.

Lyn immediately turned aggressive, spinning her two blades into action. Simia powered each attack away; realizing her disadvantage, the Deadlord seemed to be exercising her superhuman strength to intimidate her opponents. Certainly, the way each deflection pushed Lyn back a step was alarming, but Lyn had faced her fair share of superhuman opponents in her day. She remained calm and continued to pick away at Simia's guard with increasingly forceful slashes.

Morgan held in her hand a ball of crackling magic that could level a small building, and it was only growing in strength the longer she accumulated power from the tome. Though it hadn't left much more than an uncomfortable burn on Simia, it served as a useful distraction.

For example, Simia was growing accustomed to Lyn's aggression, and was waiting for the Elibean to make a mistake. Lyn would not make a mistake, but she would certainly make it look like one: an attack that Simia could easily sidestep, leaving Lyn vulnerable but out of Morgan's way.

So Simia fell for the bait: she dodged Lyn's attack, readied her weapon, and started to press her imagined advantage. That was when Morgan struck.

The Deadlord realized the trap she had fallen into too late; though she attempted to bring Sol Katti to bear, the overcharged Thoron blast struck her dead-on and tossed her into the wall, weapon clattering from her grip.

With no obstructions left to her victory, Lyn finished the job. Mani Katti embedded into Simia's gut, and Sol Katti into her heart.

Lyn glared into the Deadlord's red eyes and pushed the weapons in deeper. Simia twitched, hands reaching in vain as if to remove the blades securing her death, but her expression was dissonantly impassive. Soon, her hands fell away from Lyn's twin weapons, accepting her defeat.

"MANY REMAIN."

With those last words, the red lights in her eyes faded, and Simia began to disappear. Like the Deadlords the Shepherds had defeated before, the body dispelled into a burst of purple miasma, painting the ground and wall.

Lyn frowned at what Simia had left behind. "'Many remain,'" she echoed. "…We have to return with what we've learned."

"And with what we've _gained."_ Morgan grinned at Lyn, hefting the Deadlord's dropped weapon. "In case you wanted a new one?"

Lyn chuckled. "That may come in handy. In any case…" She glanced at the darkness; though their clamor had masked the sounds before, the distant shuffling of steel was now plainly audible. "The rest are coming. We need to leave."

"Right." Securing her grip on Simia's Sol Katti, Morgan ran for the Gate's room, Lyn following closely behind.

* * *

Morgan smiled as she entered the tent. "Hey, you're awake!"

Chrom still sat in the healing waters, mostly unclothed and sporting a dour expression. Anna and the three Manaketes also sat in chairs next to the bath, turning to face Morgan and Lyn as they entered.

"What did you two figure out?" Chrom asked.

"They're Deadlords." Morgan took a seat next to Nah (exchanging smiles), while Lyn stood nearby, crossing her arms. "Lyn and I even killed one of them, so only eleven to go. She wasn't any tougher than the Deadlords we fought a year ago, so while this won't be a cakewalk, it's not like we haven't faced this kind of challenge before. Also, we got _this."_ Morgan drew the Sol Katti from its place on her hip, presenting it to the audience. "Just like the last ones, the one we fought was carrying a legendary weapon." She glanced at Lyn. "We got a couple legendary weapons from the Deadlords back then, too. Too bad Cynthia and I lost Gungnir and Mjolnir when we were fighting the fake Robin the other week, or we could fight fire with fire."

"Deadlords… That's something of a relief. At least they're familiar." Chrom crossed his arms. "I wonder where they come from. The only Deadlords we ever knew were raised by Aversa."

"We could ask her later. For now, though…" Morgan smiled. "You look great! How are you feeling?"

Chrom stretched his arms over his head, groaning. He then patted his left hip. "It's gone."

"The injury?" Morgan blinked. "Wow, already?"

"I've been in here for almost two hours, apparently. With the fragments of Siegmund gone, it could finally heal."

"…You don't seem as enthused as you should be."

Chrom's expression remained serious. "I'm… glad it's gone." Three days of suffering through Ephraim's stab wound had almost made him forget what free movement of his left arm was like. Looking down at his left hip, a discolored scar remained, but twisting himself in the water elicited no pain.

Still, he had far too much on his mind to be as excited as he knew he was supposed to be.

"And I feel healthy, too. Emm brought me food earlier. I'll be good to go soon. And when I'm done, I want you three—" He indicated the Manaketes—"to take baths, too. We need to make sure you three will be ready for a fight when we go back to Infinite Regalia."

Nah, Nowi, and Tiki nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, I almost forgot about that," Morgan said. "Do we know why that happened?"

"I don't have any guesses beyond the Bath Elixir wearing off," Chrom said grimly.

"Does it wear off over time?" Nah asked. "Or maybe it's because you traveled through the Outrealm Gate a certain number of times?"

"I only used it twice after the last bath I took, not counting the ones I just got sick from," Chrom said. "I would _hope_ that's not the issue. I last bathed two days ago, which still isn't a long time considering how much of the Bath Elixir we have."

"How much _do_ we have?"

Anna lifted the small bag she was holding. "This is it," she said. "Based on the portions we've used so far, if everyone bathes today, then we'll have enough for one, _maybe_ two more per person after that. Either we need to somehow get more, or we've gotta find another way. Or…" She turned to the Manaketes. "…If we aren't splitting the Elixir _four ways,_ then it'll last a lot longer."

"I'm not sure if she's suggesting group baths or leaving us Manaketes in Ylisse, but I'm gonna say 'no thanks' to both," Nah said. She frowned. "…I'll suffer through Outrealm Sickness if it keeps the others healthy."

"That's so sweet," Morgan said. "Buuut that's no good. Can't compromise your combat utility that way."

"Group baths wouldn't even be a viable alternative," Anna noted. "If all four of you entered a bath at once, you would only imbibe a quarter-portion of the Elixir. So it would still take four portions at once to heal everyone. Would save time, I guess, and as we all know, time is mon—"

"Anna's contractually-required daily cliché aside, what does this mean for us?" Morgan asked the room. "Optimistically, we'll be able to go six more days on the Bath Elixir we have. Discounting the Manaketes, Chrom could be combat-ready for four times that long, but I very strongly don't want to ditch the dragons. You guys are like trump cards."

"That's so sweet," Nah echoed dryly, "but that doesn't solve anything."

"I could ask Mother," Anna offered.

"Not now." Chrom shook his head. "We can try that later, but at the moment, I want all hands on deck. If the enemies in Infinite Regalia are really Deadlords, then we'll need all the Shepherds we can get. For now, that's that." Chrom gestured out of the tent flap. "You're all dismissed; I'm going to get dressed and meet you by the Gate. Nah, Nowi, Tiki: take turns in the bath, twenty minutes each. Anna: relay Morgan's report to the Shepherds, and let them know we'll be heading into Infinite Regalia in an hour."

Anna saluted. "Roger that!"

* * *

Morgan was waiting outside as Chrom exited the tent. Assuring himself that Falchion was secure on his belt, Chrom made for the Outrealm Gate, his tactician in tow.

Morgan thought she'd have something to say, but as they walked, the silence grew thicker. She didn't have any more information to report, and her usual quips and teasing seemed wholly inappropriate after yesterday.

Even Chrom, usually not the type to read into such silence, soon found the absence of Morgan's humor palpable. His own spirits weren't exactly high, either, but without Morgan's usual personality, the darkness settled heavier.

"Morgan," Chrom said, trying to grin at her. "Lighten up, would you? That's an order."

Morgan averted her eyes, not answering. His hypocrisy was bleeding through.

They walked for another moment in silence, until Morgan, at last, broke it herself.

"Chrom… I need to know something."

"What is it?"

"Do you feel…" Morgan trailed off, tightening her hands into fists as if trying to physically grasp at her thoughts, to sort them into coherent words. "Do you feel the same… anxiety… that I do?"

Chrom was still trying to seem upbeat. "At the moment? Nah, I feel fine."

Morgan pursed her lips, then opened them. "I mean… Do you have this nagging doubt, this really really strong feeling, that we're wrong about Dad? That dread about whether he's actually alive or not?"

Chrom's expression finally returned to a sour grimace, and he shook his head, temper growing hotter. "Stop it, Morgan. There's no room for that kind of talk, not now."

There was her answer, she knew. He _definitely_ shared her doubt. The Chrom she knew would have answered with something encouraging, not deflecting.

She didn't say anything else on their walk to the Outrealm Gate. Nothing else needed to be said.

* * *

The party of Shepherds was not immediately hounded by Deadlords as they entered the dark Outrealm, so Morgan had the party split in three. One went west, one east, and one made to move due north.

Morgan and Chrom took the lead, weapons at the ready, as they moved to the north. Morgan took a deep breath and casted a fireball deep into the unfamiliar room ahead, revealing its contents.

Three Deadlords stood ahead of her, all standing as impassively as Simia had previously done.

No—one, one was exactly—

"Simia?" Morgan breathed. The one on the left, unmistakable. While the rightmost Deadlord seemed to be a mage, and the central one was heavily armored, the swordmaster on the left was clearly the same one Morgan and Lyn had defeated just hours ago. "She regenerated?"

"YOU STAND NOW IN INFINITE REGALIA." The voice was metallic, inhuman, as it rang through the quiet, dark halls.

Morgan blinked. She hadn't heard that many syllables from a Deadlord before. "Who are you?"

"THE GUARDIANS OF THIS OUTREALM."

While Simia on the left and the mage on the right (likely Ovis) remained dormant, the central Deadlord's eyes lit up, and it uncrossed its arms, taking steps closer.

Chrom and Morgan both held their weapons at the ready, but the armored Deadlord halted several paces away, planting the butt of its lance into the ground and facing the newcomers. Seemed it only wanted to talk.

"THIS PLACE IS NAMED 'INFINITE REGALIA' BY RESULT OF OUR EXISTENCE," the Deadlord proclaimed. "WE WIELD LEGENDARY WEAPONS OF YORE, AND WITH THEM, WE DEFEND OUR REALM UNCEASINGLY. WE OUTLAST EVEN OUR OWN DEFEAT."

 _"Infinite_ Regalia," Morgan whispered. "Gods, that's why Simia's back. And _regalia…_ " She eyed the guardian's lance.

"I AM MUS, LEADER OF THE DEADLORDS," said the armored Deadlord. "WHY HAVE YOU COME? DO YOU SEEK TO TEST OUR MIGHT?"

Chrom frowned. "Test…? Interesting choice of words. Well, not if we don't have to." Determinedly: "We know our friend was here. Robin came to this Outrealm several months ago. I need to know where he went."

Mus did not answer for a moment. His scarlet eyes bored into Chrom's, analytical.

"…YOU ARE THE SHEPHERDS. YLISSE'S GUARDIANS."

"Even the undead know us? That's flattering."

"I HAVE YOUR ANSWER," Mus claimed. "YOUR TACTICIAN DID COME HERE, AND DID ESCAPE WITH HIS LIFE. I WILL GRANT YOU THE ANSWER YOU SEEK, SHOULD YOU PROVE YOURSELF WORTHY OF IT."

Chrom's heart skipped a beat at Mus's response, but a bad taste entered his mouth regardless. "…You mean combat."

"WHOLEHEARTEDLY." Mus tapped his lance against the tile floor. "THIRTY-SIX DEADLORDS FILL THESE HALLS. SHOULD YOU DEFEAT US ALL, TREASURE AWAITS YOU—INCLUDING THE PRECIOUS TRUTH YOU SO CRAVE. YOU HAVE THIRTY SECONDS TO PREPARE."

Mus tapped his lance on the floor again, and runes of light encircled him, warping him away. Simia and Ovis finally opened their eyes, and they backed out of the room, leaving the Shepherds alone.

"Okay," Morgan said. She took a shivering breath. "Thirty-six. N-Not twelve. Holy crap."

"We can do it," Chrom said. "We have more than twice that number."

Light suddenly flooded the room, causing the Shepherds to wince and cover their eyes. When they adjusted, they found that chandeliers had been lit overhead. Visibility in every room.

"They really want a fair fight," Chrom mused. "This is going to be tough, Morgan, but we can do it." He placed his hand on Morgan's shoulder, gripping it tightly. "Morgan." Finally, a genuine smile came forth. "This is what the Shepherds are good at, remember? We can do this. Just tell us where to go."

"I—" Morgan nodded vehemently. "I will!" She whirled away, back to the rest of the Shepherds, already barking commands.

Chrom ran his fingers through his hair, surveying the movement of Deadlords in distant rooms. "…I'm much more comfortable now, heheh. Maybe I'm just meant for the battlefield." He patted his hip, smiling a bit. "And more than ready for it, too. Let's do this."

* * *

 _Continued..._


	17. Infinite Regalia II

Chapter 17: **Infinite Regalia,** Part II

* * *

As Morgan had surmised during her expeditions into the dark, the now well-lit Outrealm was laid out in a grid, into which they had entered from the southernmost room. Of the many square rooms ahead, thirty-six Deadlords, each boasting strength greater than any of the Shepherds alone, awaited the Shepherds' approach. Morgan had opted for a cautious strategy, deploying her units in pairs, never letting a Deadlord be fought by fewer than two Shepherds at once.

At first, this worked well. The Shepherds were limited by the close quarters, but they still were able to populate the Deadlords' rooms with more than enough fighters to handle them. Slowly, but surely, they would be able to work their way further in.

Until, after about a minute of smooth combat, more Deadlords began to approach from rooms further beyond, intending to enter the fray alongside their embattled brethren. At that moment, Morgan realized that they just weren't going to play her game. She wanted to be patient, tackle one room at a time, but if more Deadlords entered the tight space, they would soon be able to overwhelm the Shepherds. Grimacing, she gave the order for the Shepherds to spread out, take their battles to more rooms.

The Deadlords, being fewer in number but greater in power, would benefit heavily from chokepoints, as those would enable them to face fewer Shepherds at once in battle. If Morgan spread their numbers thin, that advantage was minimized. So what she had hoped would be a straightforward room-clearing operation instead turned into a chaotic brawl quickly spreading across Infinite Regalia as more and more Shepherds, more and more Deadlords, entered the fray in the many rooms throughout the Outrealm.

* * *

"There are twelve Deadlords," Morgan thought aloud, surprise repressing her combat anxiety. She and Laurent were facing off against Ovis at the moment, while Cynthia and Cordelia were fighting a paladin, Equus, on the other side of the same room. But when she had found a moment of not slinging spells or having spells slung at her, she stole a glance of an adjacent room, and found Tharja and Noire fighting… another Sage, identical to Ovis.

"Always twelve," Morgan muttered. "I thought the numbers changed… Leif told me he only fought five, but Seliph fought twelve, and so did we. It's always twelve. Leif just didn't fight all of them at once." She scratched at her hair. "Twelve Deadlords, but three of each… What does that mean for—?"

"Morgan!"

Unyielding thunder magic crashed onto the position Morgan had been just a second prior, had Laurent's warning not come in time. The tactician panted, staring wide-eyed at the crater Ovis had left. "Th-Thanks, Laurent."

"Pay attention," he replied crossly. "Do you see his tome?"

"It sounded like Mjolnir," Morgan said. "Felt like it, too. Kinda nostalgic; I almost forgot what it feels like to be on its business end, haha!"

"Enough of that. We need to get ahold of it."

"I was just gonna say that." Morgan readied her tome, watching Ovis cautiously. "Any plans?"

"One, yes. Hopefully you don't mind the risk in it?"

"Boy, I _live_ for risks. Hit me."

"Do you have Thoron at the ready?"

"Yeah. And you've got Rexcalibur?"

"Indeed. So you get the idea."

"Yeah." Morgan began to draw electric power from her tome. "…If I don't, I'm gonna look pretty stupid, but eh."

Laurent pushed his glasses up, focusing. Ovis had held off on attacking, placing himself on the defensive to judge the two mages' next move, but he now seemed to be getting the idea that Laurent and Morgan were not going to attack. Thus, he summoned forth the unadulterated power of his mythical tome and cast another barrage of holy lightning.

With an impressive amount of power heading their way, Morgan and Laurent enacted their plan. They unleashed their own magic—not legendary, but the top of their class regardless—together, challenging the strength of Mjolnir.

Mjolnir was the most powerful tome Morgan had ever wielded. With it, she had been able to level swaths of enemies during the war, but even still, it had its limits. It hadn't been able to harm the fake Robin, after all, but merely stall him. Laurent had studied its capabilities as well, and so both knew what they would have to do to stop it: put all of their strength behind redirecting the attack, so that they could put pressure on Ovis and ultimately take advantage of the inefficacy of strength over strategy.

Except, this time, strength won.

The blast of Mjolnir did not hesitate. It swallowed their most powerful bursts of Rexcalibur and Thoron and continued unimpeded, crashing between the two mages and throwing them from their feet. Sparks cascaded from the blast, raining down even after the explosion had dissipated.

As Morgan shook her head clear, ears ringing, a number of explanations crossed her mind. _Did we put too little strength behind it? Was Ovis able to put further power into the attack? Is his Mjolnir simply differ—_

Different. Yes, that was it. The Mjolnir that Morgan had wielded was not the same Mjolnir. Borne of their world, Mjolnir had survived millennia, and just like Gungnir, just like Mystletainn, it had lost much of its power in its vast life. Contrarily, Ovis's Mjolnir bore the might it had once held in the age of Seliph and Leif.

Morgan absently wiped the blood dripping from her mouth and stood, facing Laurent as he too regained his footing. "He has the _original_ Mjolnir," she called. "We can't challenge it head-on!"

"So it seems," Laurent said. "What do you propose, then?"

"I propose we find a change of scenery," Morgan said. "That is, book it! There—Cynthia and Cordelia! Head for them!"

"As you wish!" Laurent responded, and he dashed away; Morgan followed closely behind, very conscious of Ovis's sights still trained on them.

Laurent didn't want to be a naysayer at the moment, but he couldn't help but notice that they were just running from one Deadlord to another; Equus had already noticed their approach. Ovis would surely pursue, as well. "What is your plan, Morgan?"

Morgan laughed. "Plan? You're making a lot of assumptions right now!"

"No plan? Then why did we retreat?!"

"I'm kidding! Sorry! My timing gets worse when I'm nervous!"

Laurent groaned.

* * *

Quan had wielded this same weapon during the fight at Jungby, Chrom was now remembering. Mus was swinging that massive lance, undoubtedly the Gáe Bolg, in a wide arc to keep the two lords at bay.

Chrom and Lucina had to fold under Mus's demand and back off. The unbelievably powerful weapon, in the hands of a Deadlord, had already proven impossible to parry. Chrom glanced down at the Fire Emblem, and thanked Naga for having made it unbreakable even under such a superhuman assault; he only wished his now-sore shield arm could have been as durable.

Chrom looked at Lucina by his side, who was in her usual battle-ready stance, her eyes measuring the Deadlord. "Any thoughts?"

"Its—his? His defense is overwhelming." Lucina squeezed her hand around the parallel Falchion's hilt. "He outmatches us greatly; this may be a battle of attrition."

"I have a plan."

"Is it Aether?"

"Am I that predictable?"

"I just wouldn't call that a 'plan,' Father. Perhaps if you had an idea of how to land a hit on him, _then_ we could call it a—"

"Lucina!"

Lucina jumped aside thanks to Chrom's warning, dodging Mus's downward swing of the Gáe Bolg. It impacted heavily into the ground, cracking the tile floor, and the lords suddenly had their opening.

"Now!"

Orange light raced through Falchion, and Chrom saw the same from Lucina's. They each dived in, the first hit of Aether at the ready. The warm luminosity of Sol rammed into the shoulders of Mus's armor from each side—

And harmlessly bounced off with loud _clangs._

Unprepared for such a solid defense, the two lords lost their footing from their rebounding weapons. But while Lucina called off her assault and jumped back, Chrom gritted his teeth and found the willpower to push on. Now, his sword shone with Luna's cool light, and he struck again.

This time—and Lucina's shout of "Father!" confirmed she noticed the same thing—he saw a faint red glow swiftly encase the Deadlord. It had blended in with the color of Mus's armor before, but now there was no mistaking that a magical skill was at play.

Luna struck true, and left a sizable crack in the shoulder plating—but nothing more. Mus's Pavise took the brunt of the hit, not even flinching the Deadlord, and he then jabbed Chrom in the gut with the brunt of the Gáe Bolg.

The powerful strike forced Chrom to a knee and sent him sliding across the smooth floor; he stopped himself by stabbing Falchion into the ground, scattering sparks and shards of tile. Now a few safe paces away from Mus, Chrom stood, dislodging his weapon and facing his enemy. Chrom nodded at Lucina as she came to his side. "Well that didn't work," he panted. "Now what?"

Lucina glanced at her father. "Falchion is strong, but not strong enough," she said. "We need a way to dig underneath that armor."

Chrom nodded, catching her meaning. "Rapiers." He sheathed Falchion, as did Lucina, and both reached for their second scabbard lying beneath each Falchion's.

Armor-piercing rapiers aloft, Chrom and Lucina faced Mus, confidence rising. "Now, we have to—"

Lucina had always been the faster of the two, and before she could even call out a warning, her feet were taking her away from the danger. Chrom's instincts were more suited to holding his ground, however, so he raised his rapier as some measure of defense against Mus's attack—

But Mus, as he lunged forward with his great lance, showed that he was never aiming to kill. The holy blade of Gáe Bolg plunged through the rapier in Chrom's hand without receiving an iota of resistance from the fragile blade.

Chrom watched numbly as the pieces of the weapon seemed to fall in slow motion to the ground. His eyes drifted up to Mus's—the Deadlord was inches away, his momentum carrying him past Chrom, but his burning red eyes hidden underneath that sturdy helmet were fixated on the Exalt. Taunting him for his error.

Chrom hastily backed away, exchanging a worried glance with Lucina, while Mus recovered and faced them once again.

It turned its scarlet gaze onto the rapier in Lucina's hands: the lords' last hope at victory.

* * *

"So you _do_ have a plan?" Laurent shouted to the tactician running alongside him. "Then what is it?"

"We weaken Equus!" Morgan answered. "If we can kill one of them, we've got this in the bag!"

Laurent supposed he'd have to trust her, because they'd arrived. Equus, massive lance in hand, faced them as they lined up next to Cordelia and Cynthia. The two pegasus knights were already panting, and didn't seem excited at the prospect of Laurent and Morgan bringing a new opponent to bear. Ovis was thankfully not as quick a runner as the two mages, though, and would need time to catch up.

 _That buys us about a minute,_ Morgan thought determinedly. "Laurent, same plan. Combination attack."

"Are you sure? Equus will not be easily defeated by magic. That one's resistance is noteworthy."

"He's right," Cynthia panted. "His defenses are too strong. We just need more time to pick his guard away, Morgan!"

"No!" Morgan corrected. "You need _momentum!_ And we can give you that!" Morgan gestured around the battlefield; "I've figured this out, everyone! This is a battle of momentum! If you two can kill _one…"_ She pointed declaratively at Equus. "Do you guys get it?"

 _If we can kill one…_ Cynthia thought, exchanging a glance with Cordelia. _Pegasus knights._ Both nodding, the plan becoming known to them, they faced Equus together.

"Then let's do this!" Morgan commanded, summoning a ball of thunder into her palm. "We'll attack in unison, Laurent!"

"As you command."

"And once we've launched it?" Morgan said, and the two Falcon Knights nodded back in wordless confirmation. "Good!"

She held the stored Thoron close to her heart. "We can do this. _I_ can do this. I'm the Shepherds' tactician, and I've earned that spot! Time to show what I can do!"

Roaring with unleashed confidence, Morgan shoved her palm forward, throwing a heavy beam of lightning at the horsebound Deadlord just as Laurent cast sharp blades of Rexcalibur the same way. The powerful magic struck the Deadlord head-on, staggering him but not removing him from his horse, or even causing much visible damage. Though Equus began recovering, no sooner had the magic struck Equus than two pegasi were upon him, silver lances embedding in his chest before his bearings returned. Removing him from his seat, the pegasus knights followed him to the ground and dug their weapons in, burying within Equus until the blades halted against the tile floor.

No time to waste, however; Ovis had arrived. Before the fallen Deadlord could even begin to dissipate into purple smoke, Cynthia snagged Gungnir from his dying hands, and both Falcon Knights turned on Ovis.

The magic of Galeforce racing through their pegasi, Cynthia and Cordelia exercised the momentum of their kill by immediately leaping at the remaining Deadlord before the mage could even react.

Morgan couldn't contain her cry of excitement as Cynthia's new lance cleaved Ovis in two. The Deadlord was naught but miasma before it touched the ground.

"Excellent work," Laurent said, and quickly began running for Ovis's corpse. "Now, come! We must acquire Mjolnir!"

"Exactly," Morgan said. "With it, we'll turn the tides!" She chased after Laurent. "It's like a really big Galeforce! Now that we have our kill, we push on to the other rooms!"

"…Whatever you say!"

Morgan slid to a halt, tripping over herself in her haste to grab Mjolnir. As her fingers wrapped around the tome, she felt its ancient power wash over her—a familiar feeling, if much more intense, but it didn't abate the anxiety in her stomach.

 _Thirty-four left._

* * *

Mus had just demonstrated his speed in addition to his overwhelming strength and defense, and when he leveled his lance at Lucina—or rather, at her weapon—her eyes were wide and her feet were stuck.

Of the many hundreds of battles Lucina had faced over time, never had she considered the action of unhanding her weapon being her best chance of survival until this moment. "Father!" she called, and she tossed the rapier to Chrom, over Mus's head.

Mus tracked the rapier as it soared overhead, and he skidded to a halt rather than capitalize on Lucina being now unarmed. He recognized that she was no threat without that rapier, and neither was Chrom.

The Exalt, though bemused, did catch the weapon, his eyes focusing on it as he grasped the logic behind Lucina's decision. This rapier was their lifeline. They could not hope to defeat Mus without it. His hands squeezed the hilt securely, holding it with the weight it deserved.

And Mus, legendary weapon in hand, was slowly approaching. This was it; Chrom had everything he needed. He spread his feet into an aggressive stance, and he charged at Mus, letting out a roar.

Mus swung the Gáe Bolg in a wide, horizontal arc, intending to catch Chrom's approach unawares, but rather than attacking directly as anticipated, Chrom dove feet-first into a slide across the smooth floor, slipping between the massive Deadlord's wide-legged stance and coming out behind Mus. He spun on his heel and hastily stabbed at Mus's armored back, and though the quick behemoth twisted so that the blade did not penetrate his abdomen, the rapier pierced Pavise to leave a significant crack in Mus's side and flinch him.

Chrom backed off here, knowing he couldn't press his advantage further without allowing Mus to retaliate. He eyed the two cracks in Mus's armor; one on the shoulder, one on the hip. Virtually identical surface-level wounds from each approach.

If the rapier and Aether couldn't do the trick _separately_ , then…

"I have a plan," said Lucina.

Chrom nodded. "I agree: let's put our hands together."

"Father." Lucina put her hand on his shoulder, smiling encouragingly. "Save your prayers. We can do this; we need only combine our strengths."

Chrom was baffled by that. Took him a second to realize what she meant. "…Lucina, I didn't mean literally."

Lucina quickly removed her hand. "Oh! Right." She looked away and coughed once. "Yes, of course. I was making a joke."

"Don't lie to me, young lady."

"R-Regardless!" To Chrom's amusement, his daughter was flushed with embarrassment. "You know what I mean! Let's combine our strategies so far."

Chrom's reply was cut short when Mus tired of waiting and charged at the two lords. Chrom and Lucina scattered, letting the massive Deadlord slam into the wall behind them. Quick to recover, Mus immediately went after Chrom, demonstrating plainly that the rapier was still his target.

Chrom grimaced as Mus charged once again. "Lucina!"

She didn't need the heads-up, already raising a hand for the rapier as he began to toss it. Mus was quick to catch on, and without breaking his step, he changed course for the princess with an expectant twirl of its lance.

Mus's footsteps were heavy, deafening, threatening. Lucina held her breath and dove out of the way as he crashed into the wall behind where she had once stood. Gracefully picking herself up from the dive, Lucina spun around to face the recovering Deadlord and squeezed the rapier tightly. Sunlight raced through the blade—

But when a giant, armored fist came racing from below, striking Lucina in the gut, that light dissipated.

Lucina felt her feet leave the ground, followed by a rough collision into the wall.

 _A wall? But I was…_

When she gathered her bearings (coughing once to spit out blood), she found the Deadlord standing halfway across the room, lowering its fist. _G-Gods… I was standing over there a second ago._ The way her legs were reluctant to answer her commands seemed to corroborate this fact.

Mus returned to gripping his lance in both hands, and he began to inexorably lumber toward Lucina once again. She found she had fortunately not lost hold of the rapier he seemed to fear so much.

Grimacing in pain, knowing that adrenaline was most of what powered her at the moment, Lucina pried herself off the wall. That a small amount of rubble fell from the wall as she left it didn't escape her. A strong urge to vomit was present; that punch had gotten her in the diaphragm.

"Lucina! Are you all right?!" Father was still across the room, his face wrought with worry; Lucina gave him a tired wave to assure him she was still able to fight. He extended his hand toward the rapier. "I can take it from here!"

Lucina was inclined to agree, but when she took a step in Chrom's direction, she noticed sudden movement from Mus. Still watching her, the Deadlord was already charging toward the Exalt, ready to intercept. She was suddenly reminded that Mus was not some mindless Risen; he could understand them and react accordingly. Seemed that Father was having trouble wrapping his mind around that as well.

But experience had taught Lucina that, while understanding language was a boon in most instances, it also makes one susceptible to tricks that a dumb beast wouldn't fall for. Risen couldn't be tricked in her future, but bandits could.

This would confuse Father as well, she knew, but it was a gamble she had to take: "Father, _catch!"_

Chrom's hand was raised aloft expectantly, and Mus was almost in position to intercept—but Lucina didn't throw the rapier. Rather, she charged directly at Mus, allowing Aether to race through once again.

Mus realized the trickery at play at the same time that Chrom did. While Mus prepared to defend, Chrom decided to draw Falchion.

Chrom wouldn't be able to hurt Mus, he knew, but surely the fact that Mus had needed to use Pavise showed that Falchion could be a threat here. Just as Lucina was activating Aether, so too did Chrom.

Chrom's first hit, as expected, rebounded harmlessly off of Mus's Pavise. However, the behemoth didn't so much as flinch; with lightning-quick reflexes, Mus seized Chrom's wrist, holding Falchion in place.

Lucina's breath caught.

Chrom scrunched up his face and awaited what was surely a good amount of pain to come.

"Let—go!" Lucina cried, and with both hands she brought the rapier down.

Mus deftly spun Chrom around, placing Falchion in the way of her attack. Lucina's eyes widened.

The first hit of Aether deflected harmlessly off of the unbreakable sword. Lucina cut herself off before she could initiate the Luna half of the move—she'd surely do more damage to the rapier than to Falchion. She let go of the rapier with one hand to steady her balance.

Low and to the side, movement; the Gáe Bolg. With Chrom's Falchion serving for Mus's defense, Mus was free to aim his lance straight for the princess's left hip.

Lucina's balance wasn't ideal, but she didn't have options. With her open hand, she reached for the blade sheathed at that vulnerable hip. Falchion would have to be a shield today.

Her improvisation worked; sparks flew from the collision of blades, and the Gáe Bolg redirected in a harmless direction.

Lucina's eyes widened. _A chance!_ His weapon was away! Forget sheathing Falchion for now, forget Aether too, there's no time—she lunged in with the rapier.

If the Deadlords had shown one consistent, overpowering trait, it was their calmness. Judging this situation with a cool head, Mus was quick to react; he forced Chrom's wrist to shove Falchion in the way once again.

 _G-Gods!_ These were no ordinary Risen, indeed! To recognize that it could not wield Chrom's blade, and to therefore use _his_ hand to hold it—she had to respect its resourcefulness. "F-Father, let it go!"

"What?!"

"Do it!"

Without further hesitation, Falchion fell from its owner's hand, its divine hue fading when it lost Chrom's touch. With that shield gone…

Mus immediately released the fully disarmed Exalt, and that same hand went for Falchion as it fell.

 _Let it waste its time._ Perhaps it wasn't as insightful as she'd thought. Aether's sunlight glowed from her blade—

Falchion was a longsword, with room for two human hands. Just one of the Deadlord's massive steel gauntlets engulfed the entire hilt.

And when it did, the sword sprung to life once again.

Rising in an upward arc, the Exalted Falchion raced to intercept Lucina's strike. Her instincts, in this very lucky case, overpowered her disbelief, and she moved her own Falchion in place to block the attack. Mus's more powerful weapon repelled hers; the potent blow did not relieve her of her footing, but the sheer force pushed her back, her feet sliding along the smooth tile floor before stopping a few paces away.

Her chance was gone, and her head was spinning. Chrom was backing away as well, wearing his shock just as plainly.

Mus stood in the center of the chamber. In one hand, he clutched the legendary Gáe Bolg; in his other, the fully-Awakened Falchion. Burning red eyes were fixated on Lucina, Mus's only opponent.

"Im… Impossible…" Her arms were limp, her two swords hanging loosely from her grip. "You can wield…? Gods, even I cannot…"

The Deadlord exhaled a small cloud of violet steam.

"WORTHINESS."

He raised Falchion, his eyes turning to examine it.

"HOW FICKLE IT IS. YET ITS FAITH IS UNSHAKABLE, IT SEEMS."

Lucina blinked. "It _seems_ …?"

 _The Deadlord himself is surprised?_

But judging from the way his eyes were refocusing on her, returning to the battle at hand, she didn't have time to give this any thought. The Deadlord was now armed with two weapons that separately overpowered either of hers, not to mention the Deadlord's already-greater strength. Meanwhile, Father was completely unarmed.

Lucina wiped her mouth on the heel of her hand. Odds weren't in her favor. With all of their overwhelming victories in the Outrealms so far, she'd almost forgotten what fear of defeat tasted like.

Not that she could ever truly forget.

She tightened her grip on both weapons, and she raced forward. Nothing else to do but that.

Lucina slid to a crouch as the Gáe Bolg came to intercept her; holding Falchion over her head, she let the lance glide harmlessly away, and in the same motion Lucina pushed to her feet and dashed in.

Mus's Falchion was the question mark in her little attack here. She'd been playing it by ear, dodging and deflecting as felt natural, but now, faced with the weapon as he was swinging it at her, she realized that she really should have consciously planned around it. She probably couldn't block with the rapier in a fight like this, after all.

 _Rapiers aren't even that fragile,_ she thought irately, forced to dodge and give up ground. _We're just dealing with weapons beyond human creation…_

She attacked again, and was repelled again. He always defended with the Gáe Bolg first and Falchion second. She couldn't get in to attack, and only by the third attempt did she remember that getting close wasn't the only task; she hadn't even been using Aether yet.

And Aether was taxing. Her father seemed able to do it at will, but especially considering the stamina she'd expended already—her diaphragm ached—she couldn't imagine she had more than two or three left in her.

Then it was up to him. She glanced aside; during her attacks, it seemed Chrom had been strafing around to put himself behind Lucina, to make it easy to pass the weapons off.

"I leave it to you, then," Lucina whispered to herself, and she quickly backed away from Mus. The Deadlord realized what was happening, however, and charged after her.

When his daughter arrived, Chrom was quick to accept the rapier from her. "I have a plan."

"I'm all ears, Father," Lucina panted. Her eyes were locked on Mus; he had slowed his approach, wary of the royals' unity at the moment. After a while, Lucina noticed her father wasn't clarifying, so she glanced at him curiously.

Chrom was holding the Fire Emblem and patiently waiting for her to accept it.

Gods, it was close. Lucina's eyes widened. Argent was glistening from its proper—

"Wh-What are you doing?"

"You've seen it yourself, Lucina," Chrom asked. "He's got the Gáe Bolg, and even my Falchion. With Mus wielding them like that, we can't get through his guard, not separately. I need you to be a shield while I hit him with Aether."

"Then, then you should perform that role," Lucina insisted, pushing the shield back at him. "Give me the rapier back…"

"No, Lucina. This won't work first try. I've got the strength to try Aether a few times, but you'll collapse if you push yourself much harder." Again he offered the Fire Emblem to her. "Lucina."

Lucina hesitantly reached for it, cringing as her fingers touched the cool metal. She eased it out of Chrom's hands to hold it with both of her own.

Chrom frowned. He hadn't expected her to be so reluctant.

Lucina slid the shield securely over her arm. Gods, her hands were shaking. _Don't think about it. This isn't the same._

She and Chrom both faced Mus. "W-Well then," she said, drumming up her courage. "Let's not waste time."

"Right."

Lucina took a breath. Gods, with the legendary Falchion in one hand and the Fire Emblem in her other, she should have felt unstoppable. Instead she was just a distraction. Chrom, with his conventional, flimsy, man-made weapon, was the true threat.

No amount of preparing could make the Fire Emblem feel any less uncomfortable on her arm, so she exchanged a nod with her father and dashed forward, him trailing just behind.

 _The Fire Emblem is, is unbreakable,_ she thought. _With it, I… I should be powerful enough to…_

The Gáe Bolg came in first; Lucina raised her shield, pushing her weight against the attack. Where she usually deflected attacks, this one she directly blocked, placing her faith in the Emblem—

Oh, gods, it hurt.

The Gáe Bolg bounced off of the unbreakable shield with a deafening _clang,_ sparks scattering across the floor, but Lucina too was sent sprawling onto her back, the Emblem clattering from her grip as she felt something in her arm painfully give way.

Dazed by pain, she numbly heard a call of her name, but her eyes were fixated on Mus. The Deadlord towered over her, inhumanly huge, its eyes blazing yet somehow—cold, chilling.

And Falchion, her father's Falchion, was falling with the intent of removing her head.

She tried to spur willpower into her sword arm, but fear paralyzed her.

This was the same. The same as back then.

She should have known better than to lay hands on it again.

"Lucina!"

Clearer, louder this time, and punctuated by an unearthly clash of arcane metals. When she blinked, her father was standing over her, wielding the Fire Emblem she had dropped and powering away his own Falchion with an agonizing shove.

His eyes were on her. "Lucina, are you alright?! What the hell were you—" He stopped, noticing Mus was rearing back for more. Clenching his teeth, Chrom turned and summoned Aether into his blade.

Lucina's ears were ringing as she picked herself up into a sitting position, clutching at her aching head. She felt blood in her hair.

Turning her eyes upward, she saw Chrom locked in fierce battle with Mus. Constantly on the defensive; like Lucina had, Chrom was placing his faith in the Fire Emblem to keep his guard, but unlike Lucina, he knew the limits of the shield. He would let the attacks slide off, minimizing the pressure exerted on his shield arm.

Lucina formed a fist. _Gods… I'm such a fool. I am holding my father back! My own doubts are crippling the both of us…_

Lucina clenched her teeth, grasping Falchion and leaping to her feet—though unsteady for a moment, she quickly regained her balance and charged in.

 _I refuse to be a liability!_

Chrom sidestepped an attack from Mus, his eyes flicking to Lucina in the meantime. Her eyes were blazing with determination—such confidence he hadn't expected, but it drew a grin from him regardless.

"Now, Father!"

The plan hadn't unfolded the way they wanted it to, but this was workable. Chrom held the Fire Emblem at the ready, covering Lucina from the Gáe Bolg.

With his other hand, he tossed the rapier lightly in the air.

Mus's eyes followed the weapon. The Exalted Falchion flaring with life, he swung the blade with the intention of shattering the Ylisseans' last hope.

Orange light sprung forth from Lucina's Falchion—then it flashed, replaced by blue. She lunged forward with the moonlit blade, putting her unbreakable weapon in Mus's path.

The power of Aether scattered azure sparks across the ground. A clattering of metal, and both Falchions were flung from their wielders' hands.

Unyielding, Lucina let her momentum carry her forward. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the rapier, orange light, then blue, shone from the armor-piercing sword.

Lucina let out an uninhibited battle cry and stabbed at Mus with the Luna-empowered blade.

A harsh, deafening sound of buckling metal. She felt it give underneath her attack.

Mus fell backward, Lucina still on top, her sword piercing through the Deadlord's shoulder. She hadn't had the chance to aim somewhere vital, but with the monster helpless underneath her, that was about to change.

Cracks had spread throughout most of Mus's breastplate, originating from his right shoulder; the shoulder pauldron was obliterated, pieces of scarlet metal having been blown across the room. Mus's skin was unnaturally pale, like a corpse's, Lucina could now see: just like the rest of the Deadlords. In place of blood, the undead monster leaked purple miasma from where her sword penetrated his skin.

Panting heavily, Lucina yanked the sword out. She angled the pointed blade at Mus's neck, meeting the Deadlord's eye.

It simply stared back, impassive, making no attempts to fight her off.

"Lucina…"

Lucina didn't dare break eye contact with the Deadlord, but she tilted her head towards Chrom in acknowledgement. "Wh… What is it, Father?"

"His shoulder…"

Adrenaline slowed Lucina's thoughts, but slowly, she did register his words, glancing very briefly down at Mus's newly-revealed right shoulder.

"What's the… matter?" Lucina squinted. "Is there someth…"

Her eyes widened.

His skin was mottled, almost seeming to be rotting. Discolored. For a moment, Lucina could not see past these flaws; they masked the faded insignia on the Deadlord's shoulder.

But it was certainly there. Once she could finally make it out, she couldn't see anything else. The Brand of the Exalt.

Numb with horror, Lucina looked at where her father stood just next to her. His eyes were already on his own Brand, his hand moving up to touch it.

"Impossible," Lucina breathed. Time seemed to be hanging still. "This is impossible…"

A flash of light and a rush of wind suddenly stole away the calm; Lucina shielded her eyes with her arm until the brief gale faded.

Lowering her arm, all of her hopes faded.

Two more armored behemoths, each fully-encased and wielding new lances, stood before the two lords.

"ALWAYS TWELVE HERE," the Mus on the left rumbled.

"YET: THIRTY-SIX," said the copy on the right.

The dots connected. "Three of each," Lucina breathed.

"Lucina!"

The two newcomers thrust their lances in a pincer attack on Lucina, but her father grabbed her by the collar and yanked her off of the downed Mus. She ended up on her back, breathless yet again and sore from head to toe.

Her father's hand instantly came to help her up. Though her thoughts were sluggish, she accepted Chrom's aid and returned to her feet.

Three Deadlords stood before them. The center one was damaged, but not critically; he carried himself with the same oppressive aura that the other two did.

Lucina wordlessly accepted when Chrom handed her the parallel Falchion, while he took hold of his own as well.

"Alright," Chrom growled. "Now what?"

Lucina didn't have anything to say. Her head was spinning. She had two swords in her hands. _When did I get the Falchion back?_ She stared down at it. _Where did it come from…?_

"Lucina?"

Lucina shook her head, trying to focus. "We—we… need to, ah… target the wounded one."

"Sounds good to me, but how do we do that?"

Lucina's eyebrows furrowed. "Well… um…" She looked up at Chrom for advice.

His face was sweaty, and though determination lined his brow, she could see worry in his eyes.

"G-Gods…" Lucina shook her head again. "I, I don't know, Father…"

His hand was on her shoulder. "Lucina, stay with me. I need your help."

Lucina's eyelids were heavy. She could tell the three Deadlords were slowly approaching, but she couldn't make herself feel fear. "I just, I need… Give me some rest, please…"

Chrom combed through her hair with his fingers. "Gods, that's a lot of blood… Lucina! Lucina, stay awake. Give me the rapier."

 _The rapier?_ Her grip on it tightened. _No, I… I need that. I can't let go of it…_

"Lucina, listen to me." His eyes were shifting between the inexorable Mus trio and his wounded daughter. "Lucina! Give me the rapier!"

She blinked rapidly. "Nnn… Father, I need it…" She kept the sword out of his reach.

"Fine!" Chrom moved between Lucina and the Deadlords, brandishing his Falchion and the Fire Emblem. "Stay awake, Lucina—I'll be back in a minute!"

Aether flared to life along Falchion. He winced at the exertion; he'd expended more energy than he'd thought.

Lucina's vision was blurry. She vaguely saw Chrom charge in; three massive weapons aimed at him. He ducked one, but blocked a second, staggering him; Aether let him repel the third, and he regained his feet. Orange sparks cascaded from the center Mus's armor; then, blue sparks. The other two Deadlords grabbed Chrom by either arm and threw him off of the wounded one. She noticed him sliding across the floor to stop near her; after regaining his feet, he said some unintelligible words in her direction, paused for a moment, and then charged back at the Deadlords.

These swords sure were heavy. She felt Falchion tumble from her grip, though she hadn't _meant_ to drop it. She stared at the other weapon, the rapier. She held it with both hands in order to keep her grip on it. This thing was important, she knew. Though she wasn't sure why.

She looked up. What was that white thing? It was soaring over the Deadlords. She could barely make it out. An angel? It had wings. The Deadlords were stabbing at it. Wasn't working. Yellow light was accumulating from whatever was riding the angel.

When,

the silence was taken away.

A cacophonic explosion, a burst of blinding golden light, and a rush of wind. All of Lucina's senses were suddenly stimulated, and _fear_ struck her once again.

Lucina tried to back away, to find she was already standing against the wall; she leaned against it for support. Her breath was deafening in her ears. The combat was on the other side of the room, she could tell, though that explosion had raised a light cloud of dust.

Both of her hands clamped around the rapier.

 _Father…_

Her expression filled with clarity. Moonlight brightened the blade.

 _I will not fail you! Not now! Not when we're so close!_

Sudden vitality burst through her, and her feet were taking her into the fray before she knew what was happening. The dust cloud had cleared; she caught the whinny of a pegasus, someone barking orders—pieces of a fallen Mus's armor were scattered where the Deadlord had stood moments ago…

"Lucina!"

She didn't break stride as Chrom began running alongside her. The central Mus, the one whose armor Lucina had damaged, was waiting for them, Gáe Bolg intent on running through its approaching prey.

Then, Chrom's hand was on hers, gripping the rapier underneath her palms.

 _"AETHER!"_

Lucina and Chrom bellowed the word as one. Their strength shone together.

Mus's lance was a nonissue. Chrom's shield covered them both. All that mattered was that their rapier struck true.

Shining blue sparks rained as their combined Aether disintegrated Mus's breastplate, then the flesh underneath, before breaking all the way through.

Purple miasma violently burst from Mus's back as all of his defenses buckled to Ylisse's strength.

Lucina's hand was steady at first. She watched as Mus fell to his knees. His scarlet eyes seemed to flicker, soften; he stared at the ground as his undead blood escaped him.

It was then, with victory becoming known to her and her heart rate gradually calming, that Lucina's strength faded. She looked around, assuring herself that the other two Mus clones had been disposed of, and she then fell to her knees, just as Mus had.

Chrom knelt beside her, looking her in the eye. "Lucina, are you all right?" He cupped her cheek in his hand, inspecting her face.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, smiling weakly. She placed her hand over his. "We… We did it, Father."

"Not without help," Chrom chuckled, nodding over his shoulder at whoever their saviors had been. "If it weren't for Cynthia and Morgan, we would've—whoa whoa, Lucina!" Realizing she was drifting off, he lightly smacked her cheek to keep her awake. "Let's have Lissa take a look at you, alright?"

"Y-Yes, Father…" She let him ease her arm around his shoulder so he could help her walk back to safety.

As Chrom and Lucina limped off together, Mus's red eyes slowly closed.

* * *

Chrom wore a wide smile as he, and the others, waited. No Shepherd had escaped without injury, with some even needing immediate medical treatment (such as Lucina), but Chrom still couldn't help it. No casualties, no critical wounds. Morgan's 'Galeforce' plan had worked; by steamrolling the Deadlords on stolen momentum, the fight as a whole shifted in favor of the Shepherds. As they acquired more kills, and therefore more legendary weapons, the momentum became harder and harder for their opponents to stop, culminating in Robin's twin daughters defeating the Mus clones and sealing a victory for the Shepherds.

 _And here I thought I was contributing so much,_ Chrom thought with a chuckle. _Turns out I was just bait! Hahaha._

He glanced at Morgan, standing next to him, and Cynthia on the other side. Morgan was trembling with excitement, her mouth screwed shut in some vain attempt to hold in all that energy.

"Good work, Morgan."

She stopped shivering in order to grin up at him. "Th-Thanks, Captain! You too!"

"We really did it," Chrom said.

"As a team," Cynthia added, grinning and giving a thumbs-up.

"Now, all that's left…" Chrom, as well as Cynthia, Morgan, and the rest of the Shepherds present, faced ahead, where the Deadlords stood in a calm formation, peacefully still. Just twelve; no clones. Only Mus moved, standing at the forefront, his eyes coolly surveying the Shepherds.

"Mus."

Mus's eyes locked onto Chrom. "…YES. IMPRESSIVE, SHEPHERDS. IMPRESSIVE INDEED."

"Thanks," Chrom said dryly. "If this wasn't a fight to the death, it would've been a lot more fun, I'm sure."

"BUT YOU HAVE PROVEN YOUR MIGHT," Mus said. "IT WAS AN HONOR TO TEST YOUR STRENGTH."

"An honor?" Morgan murmured.

"YOU HAVE EARNED THE TREASURES OF INFINITE REGALIA," said Mus. "WHAT REWARD DO YOU SEEK?"

"I guess you're asking us what questions we need answers to," Chrom said, and Mus nodded. Chrom took a breath. He had a _lot_ of questions on his mind, that was for sure, and he'd only come out of this fight with more. But as much as he'd like to indulge his curiosity, he knew where he had to start. "You said Robin was here. Is this true?"

"YES."

Murmuring from the Shepherds.

"And you're sure that it was _our_ Robin, not an alternate one?"

"UNEQUIVOCALLY."

The murmuring grew more excited. Chrom turned his head to glance at the Shepherds, and they fell quiet in anticipation. He then turned back to Mus. "Well then. When did Robin come here, and why?"

"HE CAME TWICE," said Mus, his gravelly voice echoing throughout the halls. "THE FIRST, BY MISTAKE. THE SECOND, IN SEARCH OF SOMETHING HE'D LOST."

Chrom frowned. "Alright… I'll ask you right now, do you mean that he _literally_ lost something, or are you being metaphorical?"

Mus paused, seemingly mulling it over. "…YES."

The Shepherds grumbled discontentedly.

"BUT HE DID NOT FIND WHAT HE WANTED HERE," Mus clarified. "NEITHER LITERAL NOR METAPHORICAL."

"…Fine. I don't need the details on that; tell me, where is Robin now?"

Chrom slowly became aware of a low rumbling emanating from the Deadlord. He couldn't tell what kind of noise it was supposed to be; a sigh? A thoughtful groan? After a moment, Mus finally answered: "YOU KNOW WHERE HE WENT."

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed.

"THE MOTHER HAS THAT ANSWER, NOT US."

"Mother?" Chrom, Morgan, and Cynthia stepped aside for Anna to move to the front. "You know about Mother?"

"YES."

Anna waited expectantly, but she soon realized that that was the Deadlord's whole response. "…Hm. Guess I was expecting some kind of cool explanation."

"SHE IS THE LEADER OF THE ANNAS, OLDER THAN THIS ERA," said Mus. "HER DESTINY AND YOURS ARE… ENTERTWINED. SHOULD YOU HEED HER DIRECTIONS, YOU WILL FIND YOUR MISSING FRIEND EVENTUALLY."

More excited muttering from the Shepherds. Chrom couldn't deny he also found the information thrilling. "That's… That's great news, Mus. Thank you."

"YOU ASSUME I TELL THE TRUTH," Mus rumbled. "WHAT MAKES YOU SO CERTAIN?"

Morgan scratched her head. "Well, to be honest, we don't have much to go by. It's not like your advice is especially offensive, anyway; you've only told us to keep doing what we're doing."

"And besides," Chrom said, crossing his arms, "far be it from me to distrust someone sharing my bloodline."

Confused murmurings from the Shepherds this time.

"Who are you, Mus?" Chrom asked. "How can you wield Falchion? Why do you have the Brand?" He gestured at the other eleven Deadlords. "Who are all of you?"

"WE ARE THE DEADLORDS," said Mus. "LOST WARRIORS FROM A BYGONE WORLD."

"Are you Einherjar, then?"

Mus paused. "…YES."

Morgan frowned. "So you guys _aren't_ Risen?"

"YES, WE ARE."

Morgan and Chrom shared an exasperated look. "Wha, well… Fine." Chrom gestured at Mus. "Are you me? Rather—are you Chrom?"

Again, Mus paused, mulling over the query. "…NO… NOT ANYMORE, IF EVER I WAS."

More mutterings.

"I see." Chrom frowned thoughtfully. "So you wouldn't remember even if you were? Then, how do you know _what_ you are?"

"IT IS DIFFICULT TO EXPLAIN TO ONE WITHOUT A FRAME OF REFERENCE."

"Do you remember anything from before you were a Deadlord? How did the twelve of you fall in battle?"

"YOU MISUNDERSTAND," Mus declared. "WE ARE _LOST_ WARRIORS, NOT _FALLEN_ ONES. NEVER DID WE LOSE A BATTLE." His eyes burned into Chrom's. "OUR FAULT WAS SUCCEEDING WHEN WE SHOULD NOT HAVE."

Chills ran down Chrom's spine. The other Shepherds were all silent.

"Wh…What do you mean?" Morgan asked.

"YOU WILL LEARN." Mus's eyes were on her now. "SHOULD YOU STICK TO THIS PATH, THAT IS."

Morgan and Chrom exchanged another glance. "…Well, we plan to," Chrom said. "No helping that."

Mus didn't react.

"Well then. Anything else we should know?"

"Oh!" a voice piped in. The others let Nah reach the front. "Mus—what is Outrealm Sickness? How do we beat it?"

"OUTREALM SICKNESS." The Deadlord fell quiet for a long moment. "…I DO KNOW THE ANSWER, BUT I SUSPECT YOU WILL NOT WANT IT."

Nah frowned. "What? Why?"

Mus paused again. "…I NEEDN'T GIVE YOU THAT ANSWER. YOU WILL FIND IT ON YOUR OWN, I FORESEE."

Nah soured. "And you can't just save us some time and tell us now?"

"YOU WILL LEARN," said Mus once again. "THE EINHERJAR WILL PROVIDE THE SOLUTION."

Eyebrows raised from most of the listeners.

"The Einherjar?" Chrom asked. "And you said you _are_ Einherjar."

"FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW."

Chrom growled. "I'm getting sick of this ambiguous nonsense." He turned to Morgan. "Clock's ticking on the Bath Elixir. We should go."

"Right."

Mus shifted; the scraping of its armor plates caught Chrom's attention and silenced the room. "GUARDIANS OF THE INREALM," the Deadlord boomed. "CAUTION IS YOUR ALLY. TAKE THIS WARNING TO HEART: THE EINHERJAR YOU HAVE FACED SO FAR ARE CHAMPIONS OF YORE, BUT THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD AS EINHERJAR WAS NOT LIMITED TO HEROES OF OLD. THE ROGUES OF ANCIENT ERAS ROAM THESE OUTREALMS UNTAMED."

Chrom's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?" He glanced at Morgan.

The tactician was pale. "Oh gods. Oh gods, that makes sense." She faced Chrom. "Chrom, Old Hubba's assassins weren't part of the family a hundred years ago. Katarina, Clarisse, Legion. They were extra."

"Really." Chrom frowned deeply. "Why am I only just hearing about this?"

"I only just learned. But Chrom, that corroborates what Mus is saying. There are more Einherjar." Her eyes were wide. "We've only encountered _heroes_ so far. But he's saying…"

"The villains," Chrom said grimly.

"HEAR ME, SHEPHERDS," Mus declared. "BEWARE OF NERGAL. HE WILL BECOME YOUR GREATEST THREAT VERY SOON."

Chrom and Morgan shared a dire look. "…Understood." Chrom nodded. "Thank you, Mus."

"SHOULD YOU FIND YOURSELVES LOST," Mus said, "PERHAPS THE INSIGHT OF THE _ETERNALLY_ LOST WILL BECOME USEFUL TO YOU AGAIN."

"I'll be sure to send you postcards," Morgan joked.

Mus didn't react.

* * *

Lucina awoke in a quiet room with a ceiling overhead. Though she needed a moment to gather her bearings, she soon realized where she was. _Back in the Springrealm, it seems._ Attempting to sit up revealed that she was sore all over. Every part of her was whining for rest, but judging by her mental alertness, she resolved that she'd slept for long enough already.

She paused. Her clothes were folded at the bedside table; she was dressed enough for modesty, but was mostly covered in bandages. She noticed her stomach was discolored, a bit distressingly so. Mus's punch must have broken a few things. Her arm, too, felt as if it had recently been broken. Her negligence with the Fire Emblem must be to blame for that.

Flexing her arm, she sighed, mentally thanking the Shepherds' healers for their diligence. She reached for her tunic to begin dressing herself.

With a creak indicative of old wood, the door opened, and in stepped someone Lucina could thank personally. "Good afternoon, Aunt Lissa."

Lissa beamed. "Heya!" She walked closer, staff in hand. "Glad to see you awake! How do you feel?"

"I'm sore," Lucina sighed. "But, I can move just fine, thank you. I need to stretch."

"Right-o." Lissa stopped at her niece's bedside, gesturing with her Mend staff; "Do you mind?"

Lucina paused to let Lissa run the glowing staff over her. When Lissa was done (indicated by giving Lucina a cheerful thumbs-up), Lucina started reaching for her tunic again.

"Hold up, Lucina." Lissa's hands stopped her. "Did that Deadlord you fought use some kind of fire magic?"

Lucina frowned. "No, he didn't. Why do you ask?"

"Because of this." Lissa poked at Lucina's collarbone. "And this," she poked another spot, "and this, and…" She trailed off, waiting for Lucina to answer.

"I don't see anything."

Lissa pouted. "C'mon, Lucy, you can tell me. They're hard to see, but I know a burn scar when I see one. Chrom's got a bunch of them, and so does pretty much everyone else. Heck, even I do; fire magic doesn't discriminate! But nobody's burns are like this."

Lucina tensed.

"Any idiot with a staff can heal a burn no problem," Lissa said. "But, look." She rubbed one spot on Lucina's arm. "It's too smooth. Like all the hair has been burned away. Like hair _can't_ grow here anymore. Bad burns usually turn out like this, but only if they never get treated by a staff."

Lucina looked away. "W-Well, that must be it, then."

Lissa's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "…You don't know much about healing, do you, Lucina?"

"Wh… What do you mean?"

"I saw the burns when I brought you here," Lissa said. "I was surprised to see burns like that hadn't been treated yet, but I was like "whatever, I'll just do 'em while I'm here." Doesn't matter if it happened yesterday or years ago, I should be able to fix you up no problem." She leaned in. "But I _couldn't!"_

Lucina willed herself to stay calm. Her heart was beating far too quickly.

Lissa crossed her arms, grinning a bit. "When I thought about it, I realized that I've never had to heal you before," she said. "I mean, if I'd treated you before this, I _definitely_ would've noticed these burns. They're all over you, too; I found some on your shins, on your hands and arms… and on your butt!"

Lucina flushed red, making Lissa laugh.

"Okay, I didn't look there. But you've gotta know how curious I am! …Not about your butt, about the burns. What are they?"

"I, I don't know."

"Holy moly. You're a worse liar than Chrom. I'd say it runs in the family, but I'm a _great_ liar. And Owain's an actor, which is pretty much socially-acceptable lying."

"Aunt Lissa." Lucina met her eye seriously. "I don't want to talk about it. That's… That's final."

Lissa frowned. She could see perspiration on Lucina's face, and she seemed to be shaking. _Wow, I didn't think it was such a big deal._ "…Sure thing, sweetie." Smiling, she placed her hand on Lucina's. "Can I get you some water?"

Lucina looked away. "…Y-Yes, please. Thank you."

"Then I'll be right back. Don't stand up too quickly, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

"Thirty-five… thirty-six."

Morgan's eyes didn't seem to be obeying her. C'mon, thirty-six holy weapons right in front of her, just piled on her bed as if they weren't mighty objects of legend? There's no way that was real. And Lyn surely wasn't just finishing counting them off for her. Maybe was just saying numbers for fun?

Morgan scratched her chin. _No, that's even less believable._ That seemed to do the trick. Imagining something that unrealistic made it easier for her to believe the sight before her.

"Thirty-six weapons accounted for," said Lyn, "not counting the duplicate Sol Katti you and I gained this morning. I can't personally identify every weapon here, but I'm sure you have books on the subject."

"I sure do," said Morgan cheerfully, patting the stack of tomes next to her on the desk. "I've got a fun afternoon ahead of me!"

"Oh, you've already completed the after-action report?"

Morgan's eyes flitted away nervously. "I, uh, well, no. B-But I mean, this needs to go into it, right? We've gotta account for all the new… acquisitions!"

Lyn smiled genuinely. "Don't worry, Morgan, I can do that myself! You can go finish the rest; we can be more efficient that way."

Morgan clutched her books protectively. "I—but—" She sighed, annoyed, and backed off. "Fine, you can do the only fun part." She turned away, waving. "I'll go try to not _die_ of boredom. Later, Lyn."

"Farewell!" Lyn obliviously waved with cheer, and she went for the books.

Morgan exited her room to find herself face-to-face with Chrom, who seemed as though he had been about to knock. They stared down for a moment.

Except Chrom was already smiling, and soon Morgan caught that as well.

"I was just looking for you," Chrom said. "Congratulations on today, Morgan! I was actually pretty worried about our chances for a minute, but you were able to pull it off."

Morgan blushed. "Th… Thanks, Captain. Uh, listen, about last night—"

"Don't worry about it!"

He'd said that so genuinely, with such a wide smile. Morgan blinked. "Geez, you're in a good mood."

"I know!" Chrom said. "Running on the heels of such an important victory, we finally get some good news about Robin, and not just from the Annas for once! Honestly, I'm more surprised that you aren't as excited as me!"

"Heheh… Yeah, that, that IS pretty cool, isn't it?" Morgan scratched her head. "Wow… I didn't think of it that way. This is really great!"

"Listen." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Have you finished the after-action report yet?"

Morgan sighed, her spirits dropping again. _"No,_ I was just about to—"

"Put a pin in that." He looped his arm around her shoulder. "Let's go get something to drink, Morgan. You've earned it."

She blinked. "Gosh, Captain." She looked up at him as he started to lead her away. "I think I _am_ in love with you after all…"

Chrom laughed.

* * *

As Chrom held the door to allow Morgan to enter the tavern, she froze. Practically every Shepherd was already in here. Many sported bandages and bruises, but all gave a cheer when Chrom and Morgan walked in.

Chrom patted Morgan on the back, urging her forward. She wore a blank look on her face, looking at all of the Shepherds as they all smiled back.

She turned back to Chrom, clinging to his sleeve. "I, I didn't even do much," she stammered. "Cynthia, she did way more work than me—and Laurent, him too… I barely even fought, while you and Lucina and a bunch of other people got hurt!"

"Nonsense," Chrom said kindly, ruffling her hair. "It was _your_ strategy that won us the battle. Take pride in that, Morgan."

Morgan sniffed. "…Okay, I know what you're gonna say, but can I _please_ kiss you?"

Chrom chuckled. "Those jokes are only allowed for today."

"Jokes?"

Chrom turned Morgan around to face the tavern. Cynthia and Nah were both approaching, and took Morgan by her hands.

"Come on, sis." Cynthia grinned. "We're heroes, remember? That means we get to celebrate sometimes, too!"

"We just had a party two days ago, Cynth. And yesterday was all vacation."

"Because we keep doing cool things to earn that! Gimme a break!" She tugged on Morgan's sleeve. "C'mon, let's drink!"

Chrom smiled as the three walked off, with the twins refusing Nah's challenge of a drinking game. "Like we can compete with _your_ metabolism…"

Chrom leaned against the bar, smiling down at nothing.

"I can't recall the last time I've seen you glow like this, milord." Chrom found that Frederick was the speaker; the knight captain slid a drink across the bar to him.

Chrom accepted the drink. "Cheers," he said, lifting it; Frederick responded in kind, and they both downed a short gulp.

Chrom set the mug on the counter. "…It _has_ been a good day, Frederick. Well—no, actually, most of today was awful. But it ended on a high note. And…" He patted his mended hip. "I think _this_ has me pretty happy after all."

Frederick smirked. "Just this morning you were vomiting blood, and now you're perhaps sunnier than you've ever been. To be certain, you _did_ eat enough after that episode, didn't you?"

"Ha! Yeah, I did, don't worry."

Both men chuckled.

"…So." Frederick tilted his head. "You trust the Deadlords?"

"I can't bring myself not to," said Chrom. "I can't imagine a reason they would lie."

"Well…" Frederick began. "The last Deadlords we fought were under the control of Aversa, so I wondered if they were perhaps just telling us what we wanted to hear. After all, they didn't say much outside of 'continue on your current path.' I suspected they were under control of a greater power; whether ally or enemy, I of course wouldn't know." He took a swig of his ale.

Chrom frowned. "…I can't say I don't appreciate your skepticism, but it's a bit of a mood-killer, Sir Frederick."

Frederick chuckled. "Fear not, milord. I interrogated Aversa, and she insisted that the Deadlords _she_ controlled were mindless precisely _because_ of her control. If those Deadlords had a master, they would not have been so verbose."

"So in short, we're probably in the clear."

"…Probably."

Chrom smiled. "I'm sure I can count on you to bring any more doubts to my attention."

Frederick laughed. "Oh, most certainly, milord."

Chrom and Frederick clinked mugs.

Emmeryn, sitting on the other side of Frederick, smiled…

* * *

"Ahh… I'm so sorry, milady, I…"

"Oh, you're fine, Frederick…" Emmeryn patted his arm. "I can't blame you."

Frederick stumbled again, but Emmeryn caught him. She looped his arm over her shoulder so she could help him walk. Even the night's cool air didn't seem to be doing much for his sobriety.

"How much _did_ you drink, exactly?" She hefted him a bit; Frederick had thankfully removed his armor, or else this feat would be beyond her.

"A… A lot." The knight captain had the good sense to stifle what could have been a mortifying burp. "I had a drink for every Shepherd present… I believe? S'what it felt like, at least…"

Emmeryn giggled when Frederick trailed off. She found she was at the door to their lodgings already, so she let go of him with one hand to open the door, then all but dragged him through.

"Sounds like… everyone was having fun."

Frederick laughed weakly. "Hahaha… yes. Mor, morale, it uhhh, was very… squeaky." His brow furrowed. "Squeaky… squeaky."

"Squeaky…?"

"N-Not squeaky…" Frederick scratched his head. "But, uhhh, it's a different word that's… good."

"'Squeaky' is good? I always thought it was a… a rather neutral adjective."

Frederick's eyes widened. "…Good! Good is a good word. Morale is good."

Emmeryn laughed. "I see, I see… I'm glad. Which room was yours, by the way?"

"F-Fourth floor… at the end of the hall."

"I don't think I can carry you that far… My room's on the ground floor, so I'll drop you off there."

"Ah…" Frederick shook his head, seemingly overcome. Emmeryn, thoroughly amused, wondered if he was going to burst into tears. "I-I'm truly grateful, Emm…"

 _Emm._ Excitement shot through Emmeryn's spine. She had to take a breath to calm herself.

 _Wow, that… I didn't know I wanted to hear that._ She looked down at the heavily inebriated knight leaning on her arm. _He's only ever called me 'Lady Emmeryn,' or 'milady'… Well, or 'Emily,' but only in front of strangers. But 'Emm'?_

She smiled. He was so vulnerable-looking, and using such intimate words… It was a pleasant change of pace.

"Here we are." With some difficulty, she managed to work Frederick through her bedroom door, and another minute of effort had her successfully, if haphazardly, land the loyal knight captain face-first onto her bed. Spent, she sat against her bed, catching her breath, while Frederick clumsily moved the rest of his lead limbs onto the mattress as well.

Ah, but this was comfortable, sitting here. Part of her knew she should probably make up that couch in the corner into something she could sleep in, but it had been such a long and stressful day; she could just fall asleep right here…

She heard movement from Frederick rolling over in her bed. "Emm… Are you… excited?"

Emmeryn's eyes closed. A tired, if content, smile played on her face. "About what, dear…?"

"…About Robin coming back."

Emmeryn's brows furrowed, though her eyes remained closed. "Of course I am…" His tone wasn't exactly enthusiastic. "…Aren't you?"

Frederick was silent for a bit, and soon it became apparent that he was going to ignore her question. Too tired to think much of it, Emmeryn shrugged her shoulders and tried to sit more comfortably.

"…How excited?"

"Hm?"

Frederick was quiet again. "How… excited… are you?"

"I think… very?"

"Mmph."

What a negative noise. Emm didn't know what to make of that. "What's wrong…?"

"Are you just excited because… you're in love with him?"

Emmeryn's eyes shot open. "F-Frederick!"

"Well… aren't you?"

"N—Frederick, I don't—" She huffed. She was fully awake now, so she stood and faced Frederick. He was lying on his side, facing away from her. "Why would you say that?"

"You said so."

"What?"

"Don't pretend. You said… You said you loved him."

Emmeryn clenched her hands into fists. She'd almost forgotten he knew. "Frederick, that, that was a long time ago. I've let go of that."

"So easily?" Frederick murmured. "It's been eight months since you lost him. That was just like the other guy…"

"What are you talking about, Frederick?"

"The Valmese man," he said. "Jer… Jeremiah. You were together… Then you thought he was dead… Then, almost a year later, you find out he isn't. Then you go back to him intending to resume your relationship."

Emmeryn didn't know why she was so upset by Frederick's words. He was drunk. He was stating facts and asking genuine questions, he didn't mean anything by it, but her temper was running away from her. "That's—That's— _different!_ Jer and I were in love! We were together for the better part of a year! Of—of course I wouldn't just LOSE my feelings for him!"

"Tell me, Emm." He finally turned his head to see her; his eyes were serious, unflinching. She would have sworn he was sober if it weren't for the red flush to his cheeks. "Is it _actually_ different with Robin?"

"Robin was married," Emmeryn spat. "My feelings were one-sided. It was never meant to last, so it didn't."

Frederick's expression suddenly softened, and he couldn't meet Emmeryn's eye anymore. "…I'm sorry, Emm… I know that, that you don't like to think about that."

It was him saying that that made Emmeryn realize she was trembling. On the verge of tears. She wiped them away, taking deep breaths to calm down.

"I-I'm sorry, Emm…"

She sat on the edge of the bed, and patted his knee. "I-It's okay, Frederick. You didn't mean anything by it…"

"Emm…eryn."

Emmeryn winced.

"Do you…" Frederick began, but trailed off. "Back then… in the gardens of Ylisstol… you said you didn't want to accept me."

 _Ah._

"B-But, you didn't say… You didn't…" Frederick's breath was shaky. "Emmeryn… I know you don't want to, to be with me, at least not now. I'm, I'm fine with that, I can make peace with that. But—Emmeryn… I never asked. Do you love _me?"_

Emmeryn went sheet-white. "Frederick…"

He was looking at her again with that same almost-sober look. "I don't want—to—have that question answered."

She was utterly lost.

"I hope that—No—No, I don't." He shook his head. "No, I don't hope that…"

Emmeryn frowned deeply. "What… are you talking about, Frederick?"

He looked away, hiding his eyes. "If Robin doesn't come back… then… the question… of me or him, it's, it's not answered."

"Frederick!" she urged as loudly as a whisper would allow. "That's—You don't actually _mean—"_

"No…" Frederick said. "We're friends… I want Robin back…" He shook his head. "I didn't mean it, Emm, I promise…"

Emmeryn was on the brink of tears again. _He's drunk. He's drunk. He doesn't mean it. He's not himself._

 _Or is this just bottled-up doubt?_

 _No. Frederick would never think this. Frederick loves Robin the same as any of us._

"Frederick," she murmured. "Frederick, listen to me."

Frederick didn't shift to acknowledge her. She leaned over him to see if he'd fallen asleep, but his eyes were open.

"Frederick?" She tapped his shoulder, and his eyes shifted to look at her. "You need to sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning."

"Emm…" He rolled over onto his back. "I, I want you to know. I think you—you do, already, but." He stared her straight in the eye. "I do love you, Emmeryn. I've _always_ loved you. But now more than ever, I—this you, the you that lived through amnesia—I love you. More than I ever loved _her."_

Emmeryn was frozen. A shocked tear raced down her cheek.

Frederick's hand weakly rose to cup her cheek. Clumsily, his thumb brushed away the tear.

"Just… wanted to say that," he said, smiling a bit. "I think—I feel like I'm not talking like… me. Not sure if I'm even _thinking_ like me…" His hand fell away. "I'm—I'm going to—to sleep." His cheeks were a full red. "…G-Goodnight, Emm."

Emmeryn's mouth hung open uselessly, until finally, she was able to respond in kind. "Goodnight, Frederick."

Frederick rolled over onto his side, while Emmeryn still knelt atop the mattress, numb. He fell asleep at some point while she was sitting there.

"Frederick loves me." She said the words aloud. She knew this. He'd confessed as much not long before they entered the Outrealms. But he didn't say the words. He didn't say 'I love you.'

And the rest…

She suddenly noticed that Frederick was uncovered. A blanket was folded next to the bed, so she climbed off, lifted and unfolded the blanket, and slowly, carefully draped it over Frederick's unconscious form. In hindsight, she realized she needn't have exercised such caution; Frederick was sound asleep.

She patted Frederick's shoulder, adopting a soft, kind smile. "Maybe you have a point," she whispered. "When I think about it… maybe, on some level, I thought things would be different. I know, I know Robin is out of my reach…" She shook her head. "Frederick, you're so special to me. I don't know—if—if it's like that. It might be. I just don't know. With Jer, it was so natural. I didn't know anyone else then. And I think part of why I fell for Robin was—was that he reminded me of Jer in many ways. Little things. How he walks, the way he sighs…" She sighed. "With you… I don't think of anyone else. I just think of you, Frederick. And I don't—I'm not used to, I mean, dealing with feelings like that. I'm so sorry."

She leaned over her brave, sleeping guardian, and she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. She lay down beside him, lost in thought. "Sir Frederick…" She hesitated. "You have to know that there isn't a 'question.' There's no… no _'you versus Robin.'"_ She breathed in and out, slowly. "…I certainly love you. I just haven't figured out… what kind of love, yet."

She was exhausted, and cold. She didn't want to go back to leaning against the bed. Compared to where she was… where she was so comfortable…

Next to Sir Frederick, Knight Captain of Ylisse, Emmeryn sleepily wiggled under his same blanket, and drifted away.

* * *

 _Next time:_

 _Chapter 18_ _– **Quintessence**_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _I split Infinite Regalia into two chapters mainly due to length. Hypocritical, I know._ _I've already demonstrated with Chapter 15 that it really isn't a big deal to me if chapters get too long, but I found that Infinite Regalia had a very nice breakpoint halfway through, which Chapter 15 did not. If I'd split Chapter 15 in two, then I would've ended up with two weak chapters rather than one strong, if lengthy, one, while splitting Infinite Regalia made for two solid chapters, with the benefit of being short enough to be easily palatable._

 _This is going to be my metric going forward if I'm ever considering splitting one chapter into two or more, which I already know will come up again._


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